


Absolution

by HatshepsutAgrippina



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, Bratting, Canonical Character Death, Choking, Dark, Eventual Romance, F/F, Face Slapping, Guilt, Hair Pulling, Inadequate Aftercare, Individual kinks will be tagged as they make an appearance, Jealousy, Magical Bondage, Magical Electrical Play, Masochism, Past Sexual Assault, Riding Crops, Rope Bondage, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Harm Through BDSM, Self-Hatred, Some Spoilers (Books and Games), Spanking, Whipping, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HatshepsutAgrippina/pseuds/HatshepsutAgrippina
Summary: Triss has never been able to resolve the guilt she feels over the circumstances surrounding her first sexual encounter with Geralt. Yennefer struggles to reconcile her desire to forgive her friend with her belief that doing so would be a betrayal of the man she loves. As Yennefer’s anger and Triss’s self loathing collide will either be able to pull themselves back from the edge before they destroy each other? And what will happen when Triss is reunited with the former lover who first helped her realise her taste for masochism?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold (Past), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg (mentioned), Philippa Eilhart/Triss Merigold, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 182
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this is set during the video game timeline a large part of the inspiration for it come from the books. When I was reading the books I felt like the way Triss described her sexual encounter with Geralt indicated a disregard for consent on her part. That combined with the amnesia plot-line in the games made me feel there was a predatory edge to their relationship. I got the impression from some of the things she says in both the books and the games that Triss is aware of this and feels a certain amount guilt over it and I wanted to explore that. If you're one of the people who likes to think of Triss as sweet and innocent then this will probably feel very out of character for you. I recognise my interpretation of Triss as a character is pretty far removed from that of the bulk of the fandom.

"Please, don't go…" Triss's voice was soft, almost inaudible. Yennefer glanced over her shoulder, casting her a look of disdain, and Triss felt her insides twist. "What will it take to fix this? Tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Yennefer let her hand fall from the doorknob as she turned, and Triss choked on her own breath. Yennefer looked otherworldly as she advanced on her with silent determination. She found herself wondering how her raven curls managed to look both unkempt and groomed to perfection at the same time. Triss could see the inferno which blazed within her written on her face. Violet eyes caught her own in an unyielding gaze, and it felt like time slowed. She waited, bracing herself for the inevitable explosion. Yennefer was close enough to touch now. She yearned to reach for her but knew it would not be well received.

"What makes you think there's anything you can do?" Triss flinched at the harshness in her tone. "It's not the first time you've done this! I forgave you on the last occasion, yet at the first opportunity you rushed to do it again." Triss's chest constricted. Her eyes found the floor as she blinked away tears, and she willed herself to be stronger. She had never been able to control her emotions the way the other sorceresses seemed to do with ease.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Yennefer grasped her chin with enough force to bruise and tilted her head upwards until their eyes met. "And stop crying!" Her voice dripped with contempt. "There's nothing more pathetic than a weeping sorceress."

"Yenna, I thought you were dead." Triss's voice cracked, and a few more tears escaped her eyes, slid down her cheeks, leaving dark trails in their wake.

"He had amnesia!" Yennefer's expression hardened. "Not to mention, he only went to bed with you the first time because you used magic to assist him in making the decision." The panic started like a small seed in the pit of her stomach sprouting upwards, branching out, until it filled every unoccupied space within her. Her stomach turned, wanting to expel its contents while her throat simultaneously closed in disagreement. Her heart pounded so hard she could have sworn she felt it in her skull. Triss dug her fingernails into her palms and tried to fight the dizziness which was beginning to overcome her. Yennefer wasn't supposed to know that. She hadn't even thought Geralt knew that.

"Don't look so shocked, dear." Her horror must have been apparent, and Yennefer guessed its cause. "I've read his mind, and I'm not an imbecile. He may believe the incident was his fault, but I know better. You're no better than Sabrina was. Worse, in fact. She only talked about it, but you actually did it. How many times did he tell you no after the first time? You saw his memory loss as an opportunity to satisfy your own selfish desires. Knew fully well he wouldn't be interested otherwise, but that didn't matter to you. What Geralt wants has never mattered to you! You may have everyone else fooled with your cheerful demeanour and faux innocence, but you forget how well I know you. I see through it."

It was nothing she hadn't thought herself. Many nights, alone in bed, she had wrestled with the guilt, but she had also reassured herself. Perhaps the events of that first night with Geralt had not, in the strictest sense, aligned with the definition of consent but he had never been angry. He still valued her friendship afterwards, even nursed her when she was ill. Surely he wouldn't have done that if he felt violated? The second time he was the one to initiate. Perhaps it was wrong to allow it, knowing he wouldn't have done it were it not for the amnesia, but after everything they had been through didn't they both deserve a bit of comfort even if only for a while? It sounded worse to hear it said out loud and Yennefer's account of events did not come with reassurance. Triss didn't want to talk about this, it felt like Yennefer was scrutinising her very soul, pulling to the surface something she could barely admit to herself.

"Self-righteousness doesn't suit you." She snapped. "Perhaps I did take advantage of him, but I also took care of him, supported him, treated him well. I was never violent the way you were. You never truly loved him. He forced those feelings on you when he made that wish. A part of you has always hated him for taking your choice away. You unleash that hatred at every opportunity. You say you still have feelings for him now the wish has been reversed, but I don't think that's true. You choose to stay not because you love him but because you know it hurts me. You've always been vindictive like that!" Yennefer's palm met Triss's cheek with a crack that echoed throughout the room. Triss barely registered the pain.

"And you would have me believe you love him?" Yennefer laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I told you I know you too well. You saw how much Geralt loves me and you wanted that, became infatuated with the possibility. You just want someone to love you, anyone. It's why you clung so tightly to Philippa even though it was obvious she was using you. It's why you prioritised her political agenda over helping me even when Ciri's well being hung in the balance. You're in love with a fairy-tale ideal of love. Something that doesn't exist. You'll do anything to feel like you have it even if only for a moment. Do anything to momentarily escape the truth that no one will ever see you as more than a useful pawn or a pretty diversion. That's why you wish me to stay now. If you can't manipulate anyone into playing the role of actor in your little fantasy, you'll settle for whatever attention you can get even if it's the negative kind." Triss felt the last of her resolve crumble, and she allowed her tears to flow freely. Those words had hurt far more than the slap. She should have kept her mouth shut. Should have known she could never match Yennefer in the delivery of cruel words. Yennefer sighed. "I told you to stop crying."

"Please, Yenna… I don't want to fight with you. You may not want to admit it right now, but I was never just a pawn to you. Our friendship was real, at least for a time. I want that back, I want your forgiveness."

"Oh?" Yennefer cocked her head to the side, and a mocking smirk spread across her face. "It seemed like you did want to fight with me just a moment ago. Did I hit a little too close to home? You wish me to believe you valued my friendship? How much? Clearly, less than you valued a fake relationship with Geralt. Less than you valued the opportunity to lick Philippa’s cunt and play the role of her lapdog."

"Please, just answer my question. What can I do? What do you want?"

"I want you to suffer!" Yennefer's eyes bore into her, and for a long moment, they both remained silent.

"I think I want that too…" Triss wasn't sure if Yennefer heard her. She was crying so hard at this point she wasn't even sure if her words had been intelligible. If Yennefer did hear, she didn't consider the statement worth a response. They continued to stare at each other for a few moments longer, then Yennefer turned and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Triss sat motionless staring after her. The scent of lilac and gooseberries lingered long after she was gone. Emotion crashed over her in waves, her breathing shallow, laboured, she slowly drowned in her self loathing. Her chest became tighter and tighter as if an external force was crushing her. It seemed no matter how far she came or what she achieved, she would never escape that ugly little girl, the one she had once been in what felt like another life. The girl who had lived with her nose buried in stories about princes and princesses, true love, immersed herself in a world of fantasy because she knew in reality, happy endings weren't meant for people like her.

On the day of her ascension, she thought things were going to change. Finally, she had what those princesses in her stories had. Finally, she was worthy of her own grand love story. She quickly learned she had simply replaced one physical deficiency with another. Beauty wasn't enough, not when she couldn't give her lovers children. At least that's what she told herself then. It was easier to blame her physical limitations than to contemplate the possibility that the problem was more deep-rooted. She was sweet, kind, likeable. That's what everyone said so how could the problem possibly be her?

Then Yennefer met Geralt, and he fell for her with an intensity of which Triss had only ever dreamed. Yennefer, whose abrasive personality was legendary among the brotherhood. Yennefer, her closest friend. She had been jealous. Jealous Yennefer had what she wanted, or envious of the time he spent with her, perhaps a little of both. She never was sure. She hadn't wanted to take Geralt from Yennefer; well, maybe she had, but she would never have acted on it. She never wanted to hurt Yennefer that way; she cared about her more than she ever cared for him. She had just wanted him for a little while, had wanted a taste of what could be.

She had scared herself that night. Geralt's emotional turmoil had been deafening, his guilt and pain radiated from him. She should have stopped then, but she didn't. She cast her charms, and she took him to bed. His agony was like an aphrodisiac, it excited her. While she knew he would never feel love for her, he definitely felt something that night, felt it with exquisite intensity, felt it, at least in part, because of her. She wanted him to feel more, she wanted him to hurt more.

That was the moment she first glimpsed the truth. Her appearance was inconsequential, and it didn't matter whether she had a uterus. Regardless of how beautiful she became, she would never be able to change who she was at her core. She would always be ugly on the inside, and due to that, nobody would ever love her. After the battle of Sodden, she didn't try to heal her scars. What was the point? 

She had done her best to bury that truth, lock it so far at the back of her mind that she would never find it again. Yet, it always resurfaced. Yennefer's words echoed those she had spoken to herself many times but hearing them from her made them more real, inescapable.

Yennefer had been wrong about one thing Triss had never been under any illusions regarding the nature of Philippa's interest in her; had never expected her love. While it would be a lie to say she hadn't at times wished for it, she was able to accept their relationship for what it was. Philippa could give her what nobody else could. She took control, delivered pain with perfection. When Triss found herself spiralling into the darkness, Philippa could pull her out of her own head. In the middle of the night with Philippa's arms wrapped around her, her body littered with bruises, and tears in her eyes, for a moment, she could convince herself she had found absolution. But Philippa wasn't here right now. Yennefer's parting words echoed in her mind. She wanted her to suffer. Might she wish the anguish to come by her hand? Perhaps that would make both of them feel better. Even if only for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere deep within her grew a longing she did not wish to acknowledge, a yearning to turn around and return to Triss, take a fresh pitcher of wine with her. She could offer forgiveness; then they could drink and pretend none of it happened. Return to the way things used to be.

Yennefer gripped a goblet of wine in her hand. Her fingers felt stiff, and her knuckles were beginning to ache, yet with each step, her grasp tightened. Her footsteps wore a path into the floor. Back and forward back and forward across the space which had once housed a bed. She wasn't sure how much she'd had to drink, but the pitcher which sat on the table in the corner of the bedroom was now empty. Could it even be called a bedroom now it no longer contained a bed? Her musings might have amused her were it not for her foul mood. 

Since her confrontation with Triss, she felt like she was in a state of flux. The wine acted both as a fuel and a dampener for her wrath. One moment heat from the alcohol would combine with the wildfire in her belly, an act of convection which caused the flames to incinerate all but her desire to destroy. Then like a bucket placed over a candle, the fuzzy feeling in her head sucked the bite out of her rage, creating space for other thoughts to invade her consciousness, trespassers serving as kindling to reignite the blaze, making it burn brighter. A lack of sleep did not aid the problem.

Several days prior, upon arrival at Kaer Morhen, she had found the accommodations provided an affront. The sight of that bed was offensive to her, knowing what had occurred in it. In a burst of passion, she drew from the chaos that crackled in the air around her, pulled it inwards relishing the discomfort as it filled her. Once her body was humming with magic, she let it explode, outwards, channelled it all at the object of her displeasure, hurled it out the window. The splintering crack which echoed through the courtyard, accompanied by shouts and curses coming from the startled witchers had not been satisfaction enough. Standing by her window, she had continued to expel her chaos, throwing every last drop at it's shattered remains until she felt empty. It hadn't made her feel better. She could now acknowledge the action had been rash. Still, she would sooner perform necromancy on the remains of Sabrina Glevissig and take the resulting abomination to bed than admit that to the witchers. 

She brought the goblet to her lips and took a gulp of wine. An attempt to wash away the acrid taste which arose in her mouth at that image. She would not request another room. To do so would be an admission of error, almost an apology. While it was true everyone made mistakes, and she could hardly expect herself to be exempt, that did not mean her mistakes required public acknowledgement. It was a rare occurrence that Yennefer apologised to someone she liked. She was not about to start extending such favours to the likes of Lambert. Now the act was done she was committed. As far as the witchers needed to know Yennefer of Vengerberg stood by her actions. If she had to sleep on a chair for the remainder of her stay in Kaer Morhen then so be it. 

She took another sip of wine and allowed the liquid to linger on her tongue, focusing her attention on the earthy flavour until her thoughts retreated to silence. She tried in vain to hold on to the reprieve, but as soon as it arrived, it was gone. Somewhere deep within her grew a longing she did not wish to acknowledge, a yearning to turn around and return to Triss, take a fresh pitcher of wine with her. She could offer forgiveness; then they could drink and pretend none of it happened. Return to the way things used to be. Yennefer didn't have many friends. Those she did have were of great value to her. Not that she was inclined to share such information. She had missed Triss so much it hurt. A sense of loss rose within her making her stomach churn; it climbed upwards until she felt like she was choking on it. She pushed that feeling down with violent force until it retreated so deep within her, it almost ceased to exist. How could she want that after what Triss did?

Yennefer was supposed to love Geralt. No, she did love him. What did it say about her that right now she wanted nothing more than to get drunk with the woman who raped him? She couldn't trust Triss wouldn't do it again. Geralt was too enamoured by her personality to see the truth. He blamed himself. He even felt guilty for leaving her after he regained his memory. That's what made her dangerous. Triss was a threat precisely because Geralt refused to view her as such. If he was unwilling to protect himself, it was Yennefer's job to step in and do it for him. Is that not what people did for those they loved? Yennefer wasn't quite sure. Love had never been a skill in which she was adept, but she felt like that was what she was supposed to do. She just wished she could bring herself to want to. 

Her eyes wandered to a stack of books which sat next to the empty pitcher. She and Triss used to lend each other books, whenever they acquired something they believed the other would enjoy. She allowed her chaos to reach for them. Energy built in her chest, fighting to escape. She held it inside for a moment allowing the books to hover before her. Then she let it erupt, flung them from her, no direction in mind. Most of them hit the wall, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap. One sailed out the window.

"What the fuck!" A voice, unmistakably belonging to Lambert. "I swear to the gods Yennefer, if it weren't for Geralt I would toss you out on your arse!" Yennefer summoned chaos and launched the remaining books squarely in Lambert's direction. She leaned out the window.

"If it weren't for Geralt I would throw you out the window!" She turned, tuning out Lambert's continued string of profanity and began to pace again.

Why didn't she want to cut Triss out of her life? Did that mean what she said was true? She could admit she had resented Geralt for the uncertainty he caused her. Many nights as he lay snoring beside her, an arm draped across her body, she had lain awake asking herself, was any of this real? Was what she felt love or merely a byproduct of the genie's wish. She had hated the conflict, wanting to draw closer to him yet also wanting to push his sleeping body away. She wanted it to be real, but she couldn't trust it. Not when magic was involved. She had learned long ago, things created with magic were illusory and always came with a price. Was her relationship with Geralt any more real than her beauty? Would it come at just as high a cost? When he left her only six months after binding them together through magic, she had hated him. She thought she could never feel more anger for him than that. She was wrong. That day came four years later when he reappeared, wanting her back. In the months that followed, she had not treated him well. She kept other partners behind his back, at times expressed her rage through violence.

She inhaled more wine, hoping to drown the memories. It hadn't been one-sided. Well, perhaps the violence was but not the pain. They had been good at hurting each other, she and Geralt. Their love had always had a destructive edge. Maybe that was why he couldn't see what Triss had done the same way she did. Perhaps he did see it but didn't realise it was wrong. Had he become so accustomed to the anguish, he simply expected love to be that way? Perhaps after her, despite everything, Triss with her softness and pretty words had felt like a reprieve. Things were better now. They might still fight often, but it was less explosive, less violent. Perhaps, she was still unkind, but that wasn't specific to him. Nobody had ever accused Yennefer of being kind. She simply wasn't built that way. 

It wasn't surprising given the closest thing she ever had to a caring parental figure was Tissaia de Vries. As much as she loathed to admit it, so many years later, she found herself emulating the woman, at least in the area of emotional expression. Would Tissaia have been flattered or horrified by the comparison? It had been no secret Tissaia considered her behaviour unbefitting an adult much less the council member she had become. Yennefer had been over ninety the last time Tissaia called her a child in a scathing tone crackling with disapproval. Yet there had always been a fondness between them. While she had never said it out loud when it came down to it, she stood by Tissaia. She could forgive the woman anything. Even after she read the history of how the sterilisation of sorceresses came to be. When she realised the procedure performed on her during her ascension was not done out of strict necessity but on Tissaia's orders based on Tissaia's fears. 

She conjured fire, allowed it to dance just above her free hand. Permitted herself to become lost within the flames. She found the quiet again. Then it was gone once more. She extinguished it, reignited it, extinguished it again, yet the peace would not return. 

Her mind drifted back to her reunion with Ciri at Stygga Castle. At the sight of her daughter, a warmth had spread through her body. She had searched so long, endured torture to protect her. Tension had held her hostage since the day Ciri vanished from Thanedd. At that moment, she was free. Ciri was safe. The first words out of her mouth had been a lecture on the importance of maintaining a tidy appearance. Perhaps it was for the best she had never been able to have biological children. What would she have done with a baby? Geralt had asked her that once. At the time she was both angry and hurt by his implication she would make a bad mother, but perhaps he had been right. She had wanted to give a child what she never had but was she even capable? When she had finished the lecture instructing Ciri to fix her hair, she had hugged her. Well, clung to her may have been a more apt description. She found it easier to express what she felt through actions than words. Then why as a woman of action did she find it so hard to take action when it came to Triss?

Another sip, the wine tasted bitter in her mouth, stuck in her throat. The frustration she felt with herself sparked the ember of rage, which simmered in her core. The flames burst outwards, consuming her from the inside. Now she regretted destroying that bed for an entirely different reason. She wished it was still here so she could destroy it again. Perhaps set it on fire this time. It used to be that only Geralt could rattle her like this. Now it seemed Triss also had that honour. She supposed in these circumstances, anger was good. She could use it. She just needed to redirect it in Triss's direction.

It was Triss's fault she was feeling this way. Had Triss, for once, thought with her head instead of her heart Yennefer would have peace of mind. She could be continuing her usual pattern of pretending her issues didn't exist. All the sorceresses had similar stories; they were all damaged. Why couldn't Triss manage her issues the way the rest of them did? Fill the void with excessive self-control like Tissaia did, alcoholism like Margarita, promiscuity like Philippa or Keira? No, Triss had to latch on to people like some kind of manipulative, predatory, lovesick puppy. Of all people, why did one of them have to be Yennefer's partner? 

She was exhausted. She collapsed into the chair which now doubled as her bed, exhaled, wished for sleep to come, provide an escape. She ran her fingers through her tousled locks. She ached from head to toe as if she had just emerged from battle. Her head swam, and her eyelids felt heavy, yet sleep was elusive. She needed Triss gone. Far away from Geralt, far away from her, but not right now. It was an unfortunate fact. They needed her to help them fight the wild hunt. Afterwards, however, Triss was dead to her. Her stomach lurched at that thought. An image of Triss, just hours earlier, standing before her, sobbing, wormed its way into her mind. A memory accompanied it, her desire to brush away the tears. She screamed. The sound filled the room. She still wanted to go back there with that pitcher of wine. Why couldn't she make herself hate her? It would be so much easier if she could hate her. 

"I think I want that too..." Had Triss meant that the way it sounded. Surely she hadn't but if she had? Could Yennefer do that? It would be a way to be close to her without letting things slide. Perhaps if she took things a little too far, Triss wouldn't even want her forgiveness anymore. If she couldn't bring herself to hate Triss maybe she could make Triss hate her. No, she couldn't. She wouldn't. She flung her goblet across the room, and it collided with the wall with a clang. She sat motionless staring at the spatter of wine which now decorated the wall and floor. Fuck, now she needed more wine, but not with Triss. She would indulge alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her self control was slipping from her. As she clung to its remanents, she felt like she was standing in a storm trying to catch and hold the raindrops in her hands. She knew Yennefer wasn't coming back, and the longer she sat the closer she came to seeking her out. It was unlikely such a course of action would yield favourable results. She expected Yennefer would berate her again, but even that would be better than this. If she confronted Yennefer in her own space, she couldn't walk away. Perhaps, at the very least, they could come to a resolution or some kind of closure.

Triss was unsure how long she had sat on the edge of her bed staring into the proverbial void. The crisp daytime light was fading, and golden rays ushered in the evening, making shadows dance on the walls. Usually, Triss loved sunset, would have jumped up and stood by her window enraptured, basking in the beauty of it. At present, she couldn't bring herself to care. The temperature was dropping, and the chill penetrated her flesh, icy tendrils grasping for her core. She neither reached for a blanket nor used a spell to warm herself. She didn't deserve warmth or beauty. 

The longer she sat, the more she yearned for Philippa. The longing flooded her being, overshadowing even the burning sensation in her throat as it screamed for relieving water. She had never quite felt loved with Philippa, but with her, she felt possessed. As if she belonged somewhere, to someone. With a harsh and controlled touch, Philippa could destroy her. Yet afterwards as she put her back together, a gentle hand tangled in her hair and tender lips kissing her tears away, she could languish in a fleeting feeling, believe what the woman felt for her was something more than she knew it to be. For a moment, Triss could convince herself she was worthy of kindness. For if Philippa designed to give it to her who was she to disagree.

Her self control was slipping from her. As she clung to its remanents, she felt like she was standing in a storm trying to catch and hold the raindrops in her hands. She knew Yennefer wasn't coming back, and the longer she sat the closer she came to seeking her out. It was unlikely such a course of action would yield favourable results. She expected Yennefer would berate her again, but even that would be better than this. If she confronted Yennefer in her own space, she couldn't walk away. Perhaps, at the very least, they could come to a resolution or some kind of closure. 

The decision was made. Triss rose from the bed, not allowing herself to second guess it. She grimaced as she passed her mirror noting the disordered state of her appearance, her thick chestnut locks were in disarray, eyes rimmed red, the kohl she used to darken her lashes was smudged across her cheeks. It would not do to approach Yennefer looking like this. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of water, wiped her face, then ran a brush through her hair. It was still obvious she had been crying, but Yennefer already knew that, so she didn't suppose it mattered. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick. She would not waste time re-applying a full face of make-up. She was likely to ruin it again once the new confrontation with Yennefer began. What if she refused to speak with her? Triss dismissed the thought. She looked tidier now, that would have to be enough.

Triss could hear the rapid staccato of her heartbeat as she made her way up the hallway in the direction of Yennefer's room. The closer she came, the faster it beat until she felt like it was trying to escape from her chest. She was about to make a mistake of monumental proportion, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around. She could almost see herself from above. A wagon headed for a precipice, travelling too fast to stop. The journey felt long, yet she arrived at Yennefer's door much too soon. She paused to breathe, sucked the oxygen in until she felt like she would burst, then she raised her hand and knocked on the door. 

She stood, waited, she could hear footsteps approaching. The door swung open. That scent, lilac and gooseberries, overwhelmed her. Violet eyes found her own, expression unreadable. Triss opened her mouth to speak, but the words did not come. She snapped it shut, inhaled, tried again.

"Yenna..." The door slammed shut with a bang, Triss felt her body jump, though, in reality, she remained motionless. She leaned against the wall, allowing herself to sink to the floor. The cold stone against her back increased the chill, which was taking over her body. She supposed she should have expected this. She knew Yennefer wouldn't welcome her presence. She would not, however, give up this easily. Yennefer couldn't stay in her room forever, and Triss could be patient.

The minutes passed slowly. Triss hugged herself to ward away the cold. She had not intended to allow herself the comfort, but it was instinctual. The sun continued it's decent, and the hallway grew darker. Triss could barely see the wall in front of her. Weariness was setting in. She felt like crying, but the tears did not come. Despite her discomfort, her eyelids grew heavy. They fluttered closed, but she forced them back open. Just as she was beginning to think she would be here all night, the door creaked open again. Candlelight bathed the corridor in a warm hue, and Triss's heart rate spiked as her exhaustion fled. Yennefer looked bewitching framed by the amber glow. 

"Get up, it does not befit a sorceress to sit on the floor." Yennefer's voice lacked emotion.

"Yenna, I'm so sorry." Triss scrambled to her feet.

"I know, and I don't care. I believe we have already established that." Yennefer remained in the doorway her face a mask of indifference. Triss noted a flicker in her eyes, an emotion she couldn't quite place, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. "What do you want, Triss?"

"You said you wanted me to suffer..." Triss took a deep breath. "How?"

"Triss..." A shadow of uncertainty drifted across Yennefer's face. "I was venting my anger, I did not mean anything specific by it."

"But you did mean it right? So, make me suffer." Triss tried to muster an appearance of confidence. She may have reduced herself to begging but looking forlorn would not help her cause, not with Yennefer.

"I'm already doing that am I not?" Yennefer leaned into the doorframe a subtle smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, but I need..." Triss paused, unsure of how to word her request. "I need something more physical."

"And why would I wish to give you anything you need?" The smirk vanished replaced with an aloof air of contempt. "Would that not be contradictory to my aim?"

"Because I think you need it too." Triss wanted to avert her eyes, but she forced herself to hold Yennefer's gaze.

"You don't want that." Yennefer exhaled a sigh laced with fatigue. "Just go to bed, Triss."

"I do want it! Let me show you how sorry I am." Triss waited for the door to slam in her face again, but it didn't.

"Triss, if I did this I'm not sure..." Yennefer paused. Her voice sounded more assured when she spoke again. "It would be unwise."

"But you want to, right?" Triss's voice was soft, eyes pleading. She hated to think of how pathetic she must look. She felt her dignity escaping her. Slipping through her fingers and falling into a bottomless ravine, becoming lost in the turbulence which surged within her. 

"What I want is of no consequence to you." Triss despised that Yennefer could look so poised while she felt like she was falling apart.

"Please, Yenna..." 

"This won't fix anything. If you enter this room, you will regret it. We both will." Yennefer stepped back from the door allowing enough space for Triss to slip through. "Please, Triss go back to your room." Triss took the invitation and stepped across the threshold.

"So be it." The resignation in Yennefer's tone filled the space between them. 

Triss finally tore her eyes from Yennefer and took in the room. She had stayed here during previous visits to Kaer Morhen. It was far barer than she remembered it.

"What happened to the..." She didn't get a chance to finish the question.

"You did."

"Oh..." Strong hands grasped her arms, and suddenly her back met the wall. The jarring force of the impact ripped through her body, and she bit her lip to contain a whimper. That was going to bruise. Yennefer wasn't being gentle, but Triss didn't want her to be. She gasped as Yennefer's forearm pressed against her throat. This close she could make out flecks of indigo in her violet eyes. She could have sworn she saw a hunger in them, but that couldn't be right. She must have misinterpreted her anger for what she wanted to see. She knew Yennefer had never thought of her that way. The pressure against her throat increased, and her lungs began to burn. Yennefer appeared frozen a conflicted look in her eyes. They remained like that as the silence drew on. Triss found herself reeling as a cloudy feeling enveloped her. Just as specks of black began to invade her vision, Yennefer pulled backwards.

"Turn and face the wall." Triss complied. "Now, strip." Triss tossed aside her jacket and shimmied out of her trousers. Taking a deep breath, she hooked her fingers in her panties and dragged them down, allowing them to fall to the floor. She paused then.

"May I..."

"This isn't about sex Triss." Yennefer sounded impatient "I wouldn't be attracted to you, either way, so your scars are of little relevance."

"Please, Yenna." Triss whispered.

"Fine, you may keep your shirt. Just place your hands on the wall." 

Triss did as she was told. Waited, she could hear Yennefer moving behind her, but she did not turn to look. The sound of her footsteps was replaced by a gentle clinking then the hiss of something swinging through the air. A line of fire seared into her back. And she shrieked. Was that a belt? 

"I told you you didn't want this." Yennefer's voice sounded strained. "One last chance, Triss. Put your clothes back on and go back to your room." Triss didn't respond, stayed in position.

"What's wrong with you?" Yennefer's voice was full of frustration, but Triss thought she could almost hear a tinge of regret.

"I don't know." The belt fell again. Then again after that. Over and over first on her back, then her ass, then her thighs. This was nothing like what she used to do with Philippa, there were no smouldering glances, no gentle caress to temper the pain. This felt punishing. There was no control, no pattern to it. Almost, like Yennefer didn't care where the belt landed although she must have as the space above her kidneys was spared. She could feel welts rising on her flesh. As the strokes began to overlap the edges between new and old began to blur. It felt like the lash was falling everywhere at once. She did not allow herself to call out again, not after the initial shock. That would feel like a protest, and she deserved this. Her fingers clawed against the rough stone wall. The tears came quickly, blinded her. 

At some point, the throbbing of her battered flesh was joined by a heat originating from within. Not, the warmth of arousal but the feverish burn of endorphins, flooding her body. She could feel the pounding of her pulse in every part of her being, combining with the pain to create a symphony. Her head felt foggy, almost as if she were drunk, her muscles weak. She leaned harder against the wall, allowing it to support the weight which was becoming too much for her. Her knees buckled, but she did not fall. Suddenly, Yennefer's hands were grasping her again, steadying her, turning her around. She leaned back against the wall hissing as her raw flesh met the stone. Yennefer's hand cupped her face.

"Triss, I..." Her voice was shaky, she paused. "You're bleeding."

"I don't care." The look of concern on Yennefer's face was worth any amount of pain. Yennefer's lips crashed against her own. There was no tenderness, it was messy, desperate. Coral combined with deep red. Yennefer's tongue explored her mouth as if she were searching for something. Triss returned the kiss clinging to whatever affection she could wring from the woman she sometimes thought to be the only person who had ever loved her. Even if it had been platonic, it had meant something. Why did she have to go and fuck it up? As abruptly as it started, it was over. Yennefer pulled away from her and Triss whimpered at the loss.

"Can you walk?" The softness which had been there moments ago was gone.

"I think so." Triss felt off-balance.

"Then get out!" Yennefer spat the order at her in a tone that did not broker debate.

Triss didn't have the energy to argue any further. She put her clothes back on and did as she was told. She pulled the door closed behind her and leaned against it. She didn't care that the pressure felt like sandpaper against her wounds. A shuddering sob seized her body. For a moment, she thought she may have earned Yennefer's forgiveness, but it seemed she had simply mistaken the stars reflected in the lake for those in the sky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The regret which tore through her battled for dominance with a wave of confusion. Why had she kissed her?

Yennefer was glad she had allowed Triss to keep her shirt. She felt bile rise in her throat as her eyes fixed on the welts that decorated her ass and thighs. She forced it back down. She was relieved she didn't have to look at the ones on her back too. The bleeding wasn't as bad as she had initially feared, but the skin was broken in several places. She winced as she watched Triss return her undergarments and trousers to their original position. The rage which had consumed her was now smothered by rising guilt. All that remained of the blaze was heavy smoke, which weighed her down, stifled her breath. It felt like it was coming alive twisting inside her. It swirled in her belly. Tendrils reached out, climbing up her throat, wrapping around her heart. It both clung to her and fought for escape. Her hands began to tremble, and she clenched them into fists to stop the movement. What had she done? 

She held herself together, kept the emotion in its cage as she watched Triss retreat. Once the door closed, she allowed it to burst out from her in angry tears. She swiped them away from her cheeks, muttering curses under her breath. She felt the facade she had she built over many years begin to unravel. She hated the lack of control. It made her feel unhinged, like she was, once again, the chaos ruled child she had been upon arrival at Aretuza. It was a vulnerability she did not welcome. The entire situation made her feel weak. 

Her eyes fell upon the belt which lay at her feet, and she kicked it away from her. She had criticised Triss for her actions towards Geralt, yet now when she compared them to her own, it seemed hypocritical. While Triss's methods of romantic pursuit may have been questionable Geralt didn't appear to feel harmed. After what she did to Triss, it wasn't even a question. She was suffering. One needed only to look at her to see that. Much of it might be by her own hand, but Yennefer had undoubtedly worsened it.

The regret which tore through her battled for dominance with a wave of confusion. Why had she kissed her? She wished she could tell herself she was just trying to comfort a friend. Call it an instinctual response to seeing someone she had once cared for in distress. However, Yennefer had lived far too long to indulge in such a pathetic excuse. Even in light of her abysmal track record with friends, she knew such a claim would be absurd; the alternative, however, was hardly worth consideration. Yennefer was not attracted to Triss, she wasn't attracted to women at all. 

She had bedded them before, of course, most sorceresses had. Their long lifespans begat boredom whose proliferation could be halted only through new experience. It had been a brief chapter in her life. After a few drunken encounters, she had concluded women could not hold her interest that way. With Margarita, the feeling was mutual, they made better friends than lovers. Neither of them spoke of the incident after its conclusion. Sabrina was another story, it had been the start of a rivalry which lasted until the other woman's death. Gods, this had been a bad idea. The last thing she needed was another Sabrina in her life.

She allowed herself to sink back into her chair. The physicality of the encounter had stripped away the remains of her energy, and she fell into a restless sleep. Images of chestnut locks and coral coloured lips invaded her dreams. 

"Let me show you how sorry I am, Yenna." Triss was on her knees before her, crawling towards her. Soft lips nibbled their way up her thigh, and she exhaled a shaky moan. She reached for her, her fingers tangled in silky hair, guiding her closer. She could feel the heat of her breath brushing against her core.

She awoke, a new kind of fire burning within her. She was still tired, but she could not allow herself the luxury of further rest. It wouldn't have helped anyhow, more sleep would bring more dreams. Geralt and Ciri could return at any time and preparations needed to be made for their battle against the wild hunt. She busied herself with work and pushed all thoughts of Triss from her mind. Her daughter was in danger, ensuring her safety was all that mattered. What kind of mother would she be if she allowed this situation, whatever she felt about Triss, to interfere with that? Triss was inconsequential. 

It was close to midday when she heard the news, Geralt and Ciri had arrived. She rushed to the courtyard to greet them. She felt like she had been holding her breathe since Geralt left for the Isle of Mists, now the oxygen returned flooding her in warm relief.

"Ciri!" She covered the distance between them faster than she would typically deem proper. She threw her arms around her daughter and pulled her close. A lightness pushed away the tumultuous clouds which had plagued her. She squeezed Ciri as if she might vanish if she didn't hold on tight enough. Pulling back to take in the sight of her, she traced a finger over the scar, which marred her cheek. It had healed well. 

She remembered a time when Ciri was a child, when she had been tasked with the girl's magical training. It was a rare occasion a lesson passed without a comment from Ciri, regrading Yennefer's beauty. Not all were verbal, it had taken time for Ciri to learn to shield her thoughts. Once, Ciri had asked if, through magic, she could someday become as beautiful as Yennefer. Yennefer had told her there was no need. Ciri had the gift of natural beauty. She had failed to conceal the resentment in her voice. Guilt crept up on her again. What kind of woman envied a child, her own daughter? Despite her scar, Ciri had only grown more lovely as she aged, but Yennefer didn't feel jealous anymore, that at least was something.

"You've grown so beautiful." Yennefer drew her close again. 

As she let go, she glimpsed Triss's approach. She didn't need that reminder, would not let her ruin this moment. She turned and reached for Geralt, pressing her lips to his. To an observer, it might have looked affectionate. Another part of the family reunion. For Yennefer, it was a distraction. One which failed. Usually, she loved kissing Geralt, could become lost in it. At this moment she was desperate for that reassurance, but it escaped her. Right now she craved something else. Her mind kept drifting back to the soft feel of Triss's lips, her sweet earthy scent. Geralt's lips were rough, the stubble of his regrowing beard rubbed against her face. He stunk of the road, of horse sweat. That was not what she currently desired.

"How long has it been since you bathed?" She wrinkled her nose. Yes, that was it. She didn't want Triss, she just prefered her partners clean. As soon as Geralt attended to his personal hygiene, all thoughts of Triss would be gone. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Triss's eyes on her, and the last remanents of an illusory peace began to slip. She locked her lips with Geralt's again, pulling his body flush against her own. When she finally let go, Triss had Ciri wrapped in a hug.

"Little sister!" Yennefer restrained her desire to roll her eyes. While young by sorceress standards, Triss was far too old to be Ciri's sister. Plus, she did not like the implications of what such a relationship meant for Triss's place in her life. For all the time she spent worrying about getting Triss away from herself and Geralt, she had forgotten how close she was with Ciri. As Ciri returned the hug, Triss winced, and Ciri pulled back.

"Are you hurt, Triss?" Concern flashed across her face.

"I just strained a muscle, I'm fine." Triss shot her a reassuring smile.

"Will you be able to fight like that?" Geralt now looked concerned too. 

"I'm fine." Triss reiterated. 

Fuck, Yennefer hadn't considered that. The weight which she believed had forsaken her returned with crushing force. Why hadn't she thought of that! Last night's decision could not have been more ill-timed. What if it hindered Triss's ability to fight? They all needed to be at their best for this battle. How could she have put her daughter at risk that way? A blistering heat chased away all feelings of culpability, it was Triss who wanted this. This was her fault!

The reunion was short-lived. Now Ciri had arrived the wild hunt would not be far behind. Preparations had to be made. As Geralt and Ciri paused in the courtyard to converse with their allies, Yennefer took their distraction as an opportunity. Seizing Triss by the wrist, she dragged her behind an outbuilding and shoved her against the wall. Triss yelped in pain at the force of the impact against her wounds. Yennefer planted a hand on the wall on either side of Triss's body. She leaned in close, blocking the path to freedom. She needed to have words with Triss, and the other woman would stay right where she was until she was done. She certainly didn't notice the warmth of Triss's body so close to her own. She assuredly did not find pleasure in the feeling.

"How could you be so irresponsible? Is Ciri's safety of so little consequence to you?" Yennefer kept her voice low so as not to be heard.

"Ciri is like a sister to me! How could you think..." Yennefer clamped a hand over her mouth. Triss looked wounded by the accusation. 

"Keep your voice down!" Yennefer glanced over her shoulder unease gripping her. No one else needed to be privy to this conversation.

"What is this about, Yenna?" Triss asked once the hand was removed. The look of hurt was rapidly replaced with one of bewilderment.

"You knew our fight with the wild hunt was almost upon us, yet you insisted I injure you! Did you not consider the risk?" Yennefer hissed.

"No." Triss paused, having the decency to look a bit guilty. "But neither did you. You could have said no, but you didn't. You didn't have to take it so far, but you did! Besides, I may be in pain, but I'm not incapacitated. I can still fight, so it won't be a problem."

"It had better not." Yennefer's gaze fell to Triss's lips, and she shook herself.

"You wanted this as much as I did!" It seemed Triss was rediscovering her backbone and Yennefer felt a hint of relief. It was easier to hold on to anger, heap the blame on Triss, if she was fighting back. "Don't place all the blame on me just because you regret it now." 

"You would like that, wouldn't you? Is that why you did it?" Triss's words had fanned the flames, and the resulting burn was almost a comfort. "You wanted it to go too far so I would feel regret, forgive you out of guilt! Well, you failed. Regret is a pointless emotion, and I will not indulge it."

"No, that's not..." But Triss was unable to finish her sentence.

"You manipulated me, just like you did Geralt." Yennefer held Triss's gaze a silent dare to throw more fuel on the fire.

"You kissed me!" Triss protested "I never asked you to do that." Yennefer's growing vindication faltered. They both fell silent for a moment. "You did it to hurt me, didn't you?" Triss whispered the question as if she hoped Yennefer wouldn't hear, wouldn't answer.

"Of course, why else would I do it? Surely you didn't think I desired you?" Usually, Yennefer despised others putting words in her mouth, but she didn't have an explanation for Triss, she lacked even a reason to give to herself. Triss's assumption was convenient.

"That's horribly cruel even for you." Triss looked like she was about to cry again. Yennefer glared at her, a silent order to control herself. She didn't think she could handle that right now.

"You asked me to hurt you, did you not? Surely, you didn't expect I would be less than thorough." A few tears slipped down Triss's cheeks. "Have you at least tended to the wounds?"

"A bit hard to do by myself." Yennefer noted a slight shake in Triss's voice. It was a lie, and they both knew it.

"You're a sorceress, surely you could have done something." Yennefer emphasised the derision in her voice.

"Perhaps I didn't want to." Triss avoided eye contact.

"Another manipulation I'm sure." Yennefer grasped for a sense of confidence, she needed to believe she was in the right here, but it was turning to ash in her hands, slipping through her fingers. "Make sure you're in a condition to fight when the wild hunt arrives." She took a step back, allowing Triss space to make her escape. "And Triss?" She called after her retreating form. "If anything happens to Ciri tonight I will hold you personally responsible."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have to find her!" Triss grabbed a feather off the floor, all that remained of Philippa's presence. She marched out of the Rosemary and Thyme. Yennefer shouted after her, but the words failed to reach her, deflected by a cloak of determination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered including the battle of Kaer Morhen but it didn't add a lot to my overall plot and I figured none of us are really here for a retelling of the games anyway. So I glossed over it, you get Philippa instead.

The battle of Kaer Morhen was over, they had emerged from the madness alive. Well, most of them had. They had lost Vesemir. Their reprieve would be only temporary. The Wild Hunt had been driven away, but they were not vanquished. Everyone had been subdued as they departed the witchers' stronghold. As they travelled back to Novigrad, Triss could feel a rock weighing heavy in the pit of her belly. Her stomach churned, tried to dislodge it to no avail. She wondered if Yennefer held her responsible. Triss didn't believe the absence of her wounds would have changed the outcome, but she could not shake Yennefer's words from her mind. _If anything happens to Ciri tonight, I will hold you personally responsible._ Ciri was devastated by the death of a former mentor. Did that count? Even if it didn't, Ciri had been insistent on immediate vengeance. After the funeral, she and Geralt had set off for Velen seeking Imlerith, a member of the hunt. Yennefer's displeasure with that development had been palpable. Did she blame Triss for that too? 

She and Yennefer and had barely spoken since their conversation in the Kaer Morhen courtyard. Triss had tried to convince herself, the silence boded well. Yennefer wasn't known for her subtlety. If she blamed her, Triss would know about it by now. It was futile. Like a whirlpool swirling within her, a sense of disquiet swallowed all reassurances. She knew she shouldn't be so wrapped up in herself, making the tragedy of a friend's death about her own issues. However, when she pushed the feelings away, they came back like an avalanche, burying her, crushing her. 

Their arrival at the Rosemary and Thyme had been accompanied by a welcome distraction. Now in Novigrad, there was much work with which to busy herself. If they wished to permanently rid themselves of the Wild Hunt, they needed to be quick in their preparations. They needed more power, more allies. They needed to find more members of the Lodge of Sorceresses. Triss had focused her energy on one goal, finding Philippa. This had led to the current situation.

"You what?" Triss felt like she was choking on the words. Her rising panic was squashed, overcome by indignation as the sound of Yennefer's laughter filled the room. 

Triss had been pleased with how her investigation had progressed. She had learned of the events which followed Philippa's arrival in Novigrad. Philippa had gone to Arthur de Vleester, a former lover, seeking assistance. Scorned by the way things had ended between them, the man had betrayed her. He convinced her she would be safer in owl form and once she transformed, he trapped her, placed a dimeritium band on her leg. Shortly after, he was arrested by witch hunters, his estate had been seized. His possessions, including Philippa, were auctioned. 

Triss had felt her spirits lift when she learned the identity of the person who purchased her. It was Zoltan. Philippa had been right under their noses the whole time. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to forget her troubles, embrace a little joy. Her good humour had been short-lived.

"I said I lost her in a game of cards." Zoltan appeared miffed at having to repeat himself. Triss felt like she was running down a tunnel, towards a light which kept drawing farther away.

"Who has her now?" Triss cast Yennefer a sharp glare. The other woman's attitude was wearing on her patience. "Stop being childish, it isn't funny." Yennefer's laughter grew louder.

"I'm sure Philippa can take care of herself. Or are you so desperate to fall into bed with her you can't handle the wait." Yennefer smirked at her.

Triss restrained her desire to retort, she did not wish for this to escalate. She had more pressing issues to deal with, and an argument with Yennefer would serve only as a hindrance. Yennefer surely knew this was serious. While she had never been fond of Philippa, she recognised the importance of solidarity among sorceresses during these times. Her crudeness and feigned lack of concern were designed to get under her skin. Unfortunately, it was working. Each snicker or remark built on her irritation like an itch which only grew worse each time she scratched it. Unease and annoyance combined, filling a reservoir which had once housed calm waters until she felt like it would overflow.

Any sexual cravings Triss had in regards to Philippa were overshadowed by worry. Philippa was trapped in owl form, she couldn't use magic. What if the person who had her discovered her identity? What if she was attacked by an animal, or someone decided her feathers would make a fine hat? She was helpless. Philippa would undoubtedly take offence if she heard such a word applied to her, but it was true, and after what happened with Radovid, it was apparent she wasn't invincible. Triss would not see more harm inflicted on her than had already come to pass. 

"I don't know." Zoltan shrugged, looking far less ashamed than Triss felt he should, given the circumstances. "The man wasn't from around here, didn't give me a name. He bloody fleeced me, offered to play for the owl and then left after he kicked my arse."

"You look on the verge of a poor decision, Triss." Triss whipped her head in Yennefer's direction so fast her neck protested. "You may want her back between your thighs, but it would be foolish to go after her alone. As unfortunate as it may be, we need you, it wouldn't do for you to be captured or killed. Wait for Geralt to return and take him with you. Although, do try to keep your cunt to yourself. I'm sure it will be achievable if you truly set your mind to it."

"She could be dead by the time he gets here!" Triss continued to ignore Yennefer's attempts at provocation. She couldn't abandon Philippa to another Radovid, she wouldn't. "If you think it's such a bad idea for me to go alone, then come with me yourself."

"It would hardly be wise for sorceresses to be traipsing about the city in groups with the witch hunters about." Yennefer's tone was dismissive. "I'm going to look into Rita's whereabouts. By all means, keep investigating what happened to Philippa but don't go after her without..."

"I have to find her!" Triss grabbed a feather off the floor, all that remained of Philippa's presence. She marched out of the Rosemary and Thyme. Yennefer shouted after her, but the words failed to reach her, deflected by a cloak of determination. 

Her surroundings passed in a blur as she rushed through the streets, headed for the fountain near the Passiflora. She paused upon reaching her destination. Clutching the feather close, she drew chaos from the pool before her. It churned within her, as it had at the foot of the torrent which returned the water to the fountain's base. Eyes fixed on its surface, she chanted the words. An image began to form. Hazy at first, it gradually crystalised. Initially, she could see only the bathhouse, but the picture began to shift, reshape itself. Then he appeared, Dijkstra. Fuck. Triss felt her breath catch in her throat, her saliva grew thick, difficult to swallow. She had always detested the man, couldn't stand that Philippa allowed him in her bed, but after Philippa sent assassins after him? If Dijkstra wanted her now, it wasn't because he missed her. She had to get to that bathhouse.

Triss was welcomed to the bathhouse with the sound of a crash. She threw the door open and hurried inside. Fire and smoke billowed in her direction as a wall exploded. The heat was unbearable. She sprang backwards, barely dodging the worst of the debris. The stench of burning flesh assaulted her. Her head swam, and acid crept up her throat. She stood momentarily frozen, terror coursed through her veins. She did not do well with fire. Not after Sodden. The seconds stretched into an eternity. 

Then Triss caught sight of her. Dijkstra must have taken the dimeritium off because Philippa was very much human. She held herself with pride and poise. A cocktail or wrath and fear emanated from her in waves. She mustn't be at full strength after so long in dimeritium. If she was, she wouldn't still be here, Dijkstra wouldn't be breathing. Triss's heart began to strangle itself as her gaze fell on the blindfold which hid the other woman's eyes, or rather the sockets where they used to be. She hadn't seen her since she was tortured by Radovid. Philippa hurled another fireball at Dijkstra, missing him by a narrow margin. The man stumbled backwards cursing. Adrenaline broke her out of her stupor, she didn't have time for a breakdown. She summoned strength and shook the splinters from her hair.

"I'll handle this." Triss stepped forward, with each action she felt a little of the confidence, which had so long evaded her, return. Philippa needed her, nothing else mattered.

"Oh no, you won't!" Dijkstra scrambled to his feet. "I won't have another bloody sorceress in here! One is trouble enough. Guards, remove..."

"Do you think your guards will be able to stop her once they're done with me? Either you tell them to back off, and I'll handle it, or I can go through them to get to her." Triss conjured fire of her own, it hovered in a hissing swirl, a dare to anyone who might oppose her. Another burst of flames exploded just to their left. Triss flinched. The screams of a guard not so lucky as she echoed through her skull.

"Fine." Dijkstra muttered, his guards all too pleased to stand down. 

"Philippa!" Triss dashed forward just as another orb of fire raced past them, too close. Her heart hammered in her chest. She kept her eyes trained on the other woman, it was the only way she would get through this. "Phil, it's me."

"Triss?" Philippa paused. A gesture from Dijkstra and his guards rushed back into the fray. Philippa's expression turned murderous. "So you stand with him now? Here on the orders of Yennefer's pet perhaps? You always were overly attached to him."

"No!" Triss harnessed the chaos which crackled in the air around her allowed herself to become saturated in it. This time when flames exploded across the room, it was at her hand. She took care not to hit anyone, it was a warning. The guards hesitated. Anticipating future violence, she placed herself in front of Philippa. She hoped she was right in her assumption that the other woman would never hurt her. At least not like this. "Phil, I want to help you. I'm going to get you out of here. Nobody else needs to get hurt." Her voice was pleading, desperate.

"She's not going anywhere!" Dijkstra interjected, gaining confidence upon noting a lack of incoming fire. "She and I have lots to talk about." He took a menacing step forward. "Remember those assassins you sent after me, darling?" His tone dripped with sarcasm as he spoke the last word.

"I won't let you touch her!" Triss also took a step forward. "There are two of us Dijkstra, your guards were flailing when it was just her. Be sensible."

"I don't require your protection." Philippa bristled at her statement, but Triss noted a slight relaxation in her rigid posture. She turned her attention to Dijkstra. "Do come over here, I would love to discuss it further." Dijkstra's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. He looked contemplative as he weighed his options.

"Don't think you won't hear from me again!" He stepped back in defeat, fixing them with a glare. By the look on Philippa's face, Triss was sure if she had eyes it would have been returned.

"I'm sure we will." Triss channelled the remanents of her chaos into opening a portal. "Phil, let's go." Philippa looked like she would have prefered to stay and set Dijkstra on fire, but she nodded and followed Triss through the portal. The world began to spin, and darkness engulfed them. For a moment, there was pressure, silence. There had been a time when teleportation made Triss queasy, but she was used to it now.

When the light returned, they were back at the Rosemary and Thyme. Triss felt her body begin to shudder. The adrenaline which had bolstered her confidence was fading. The scent of charred flesh clung to the back of her throat. Images of flames seared in her mind. Hot tears began to fall, her legs betrayed her, and she would have collapsed were it not for Philippa's arms, suddenly wrapped around her. A hand stroked her hair in a gentle caress, and she allowed herself to fall into the embrace. The familiar scent, cinnamon and muskroot, was faint, overpowered by rancid sweat, but it was there. She felt like home. The violent shakes which racked her body in waves faded to a tremble, the beat of her heart slowed. Then shame slunk in. After everything Philippa had been through, she shouldn't have to do this. It wasn't fair to her, it should be the other way around. She tore herself from Philippa's embrace. Didn't wait to see her reaction. She organised a room for her and ordered that she be brought a bath. 

"Are you okay?" She asked once they were in Philippa's room. She felt back in control now, finally trusted herself to speak.

"Of course, this is only temporary." Philippa gestured to the blindfold. "An inconvenience but manageable." Triss sighed, she suspected that was a lie, but she didn't press the issue. Geralt had described the state of Philippa's lab when he found it. It bore signs of an obsessive search for a cure. While she had made progress, she had yet to achieve her desired results. The only person to have succeeded at such a thing was Vilgerfortz, and his results were hardly perfect. Triss was confident, if anyone else were to succeed, it would be Philippa. She was the most powerful of them all, or at least of those who remained. Still, it must have been hard for her, each failure must have been devastating.

When the bath arrived, Philippa did not dawdle as she divested herself of her clothes. Triss sat on the bed, picking at her cuticles, tried not to stare as she lowed herself into the water. She had seen Philippa's body many times before, but it had been so long, she wasn't sure she had the right to think of her that way anymore. While it might be silly, after what she did to Geralt, she felt a need to exercise caution.

"Wonderful, it's been far too long since I last bathed." Philippa hummed as she relaxed into the water. "And Triss, stop acting like a blushing school girl. We both know you're not chaste. Besides, I hardly would have undressed in front of you if I objected to you enjoying the view." Triss hadn't been doing any blushing before, but she felt her cheeks colour now. Philippa chuckled. "Come here."

"I'm sorry" Triss sat down on the edge of the tub. "It's been so long, and when I heard about Radovid... I worried and now..."

"You realise you've missed me and you worry I do not reciprocate the feeling?" Philippa surmised. That wasn't the full truth, but Triss did not care to elaborate. Philippa reached up to caress her cheek. "Join me."

Triss undressed and climbed into the bath, once she was in the water Philippa reached for her, pulled her close. Their lips met. The movement of Philippa's lips was firm, demanding, and Triss fell into a rhythm with her. She had missed this, missed her. For a moment, it was as if the ocean of time which had separated them didn't exist. Philippa's nails raked down her arms, leaving scarlet trails in their wake, and she nipped her bottom lip just hard enough to hurt. Triss gripped her shoulders, pressing her body as close to Philippa's as she could get. She felt hands grip her hips. Philippa's teeth sunk into her neck, and she groaned. 

Nails dug into the flesh of her ass, and she hissed in pain. Philippa paused. Suddenly strong hands were turning her around. Philippa's fingers traced her welts.

"What's this?"

"I haven't exactly been abstinent since we last saw each other."

"If you intend to compare this to what we used to do together, you insult me. I would never allow you to leave my chambers in such a state. I hope Geralt isn't too fond of his manhood because..."

"It wasn't Geralt!"

"Why didn't this person who is not Geralt dress the wounds for you? Even if you wanted to keep the marks for a while, they still should have been treated. This could get infected, it could scar!" Triss flinched at the venom in her tone. Her heart skipped a beat as if she had misjudged her footing while descending a flight of stairs. She vowed to herself Philippa would never find out about Yennefer. The two of them might level the building if their rivalry ever came to blows.

"Um..." Triss bit her lip, glad she was facing away from the other woman, but Philippa's hands were on her again, turning her. Fingers wrapped around her jaw, positioning her face so they would have been making eye contact were circumstances different. It was a power move, Triss knew it.

"Is something wrong?" Philippa's voice was softer than Triss expected it to be,

"I'm fine." Philippa looked sceptical, but she afforded Triss the same curtesy shown her and did not press further. "I just wanted to keep them, to remember, I'll tend to them soon."

"Did you think I spoke idly when I said I would not permit you to leave my chambers in such a condition? I'll heal you now." Philippa gestured for Triss to turn around and she complied. She could feel Philippa's hands brush across her wounds, leaving a warm, prickly sensation in their wake as the skin stitched itself back together. 

When she turned again, it felt like Philippa had her caught in an intense stare. Perhaps she did, she was a sorceress after all. The silence stretched out, Philippa looked contemplative and Triss felt frozen. Was the statement about leaving intended as a dismissal?

"If you expected me to indulge whatever that was supposed to be, you're going to be disappointed." 

"I'm sorry." Triss nodded her understanding as tears began to well up in her eyes. The force of her disappointment crashed down upon her annihilating the contentment, she had felt was almost within her reach. She climbed out of the bath and began her retreat. Halfway across the room, she realised she forgot to dress. A hand wrapped around her wrist. She turned.

"I think you misunderstand me." Philippa's other hand cupped her cheek. "I do not wish for you to leave, but I refuse to participate in your self-destruction." 

It was Triss who reached for her then. Hands gripping her shoulders as she sought comfort in Philippa's lips. Suddenly her back hit the wall. She ran her nails down Philippa's back as the other woman's hands caressed her breasts. Usually, such a touch would bring her shame, but not with Philippa. Years ago, with a hand wrapped around her throat, Philippa ran her tongue over the scars, told Triss she would not tolerate her seeing herself as anything other than beautiful.

Fingers played with her nipples. A few tears escaped her eyes as she felt lips trail their way down her neck. She tangled her fingers in Philippa's hair as her tongue flicked across her nipple. Lips wrapped around it, nipping it lightly. The hint of pain mocked her it wasn't enough, not what she needed.

"Harder" Triss gasped. 

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, love." Philippa switched her attention to the other side. "Unless you care to explain what's been going on so I can make a decision with complete information?" She paused.

"I can't." A few more tears slipped from her eyes.

"Then I can't either." Philippa's mouth continued it's exploration of her body slowly working downwards, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Triss felt her abdomen clench as Philippa settled on her knees before her, her mouth now on her thighs, teasingly close. Philippa nipped at her again, still maddeningly gentle. 

Triss had always felt valued when she was with Philippa. She knew it was a lie. Philippa had a talent for making people feel special. It was how she gained information from so many political figures wives. Philippa cared about herself, her own political advancement. This was a game to her, but it was a game Triss loved. There was always a manipulation to be found, but she rarely looked for it. However, Triss couldn't handle feeling valued right now, at least not without first feeling punished. She needed to earn Philippa's love, even if it was just an illusion. So Triss searched. She wondered what Philippa stood to gain. In the past, she had wanted political support? Maybe, Philippa had plans to reform the lodge, but how would her denial of Triss's desire serve that aim? Perhaps, she had just missed the game. If this was just a game, then Triss could be more than a pawn. Maybe, she had a chance to gain what she wanted.

As Philippa's tongue found her core, Triss pulled her hair, hard.

"Triss..." Philippa's tone was warning. "I know what you're doing, behave." Triss ran her fingers through her hair, gently this time. "Good girl." Philippa began to feast upon her lapping her clean of the wetness which was starting to drip down her thighs. Her tongue caressed her in firm strokes, deliberately missing her clit each time. Triss groaned in frustration and pulled Philippa's hair again.

"Hands above your head, the privilege of touching me is reserved for those who follow instructions." Triss complied. At least she was eliciting a reaction, perhaps if she pushed just a little harder. Finger's plunged into her and Philippa's mouth wrapped around her clit. Pleasure ripped through her, but it was dampened by a tinge of anxiety. During their previous encounters, she had been eager to please. She was unsure how Philippa would react to continued defiance. A few moments passed, and she leaned further into the wall. Philippa was good at this. Heat continued to build within her, and for a moment she thought, maybe she should just allow it to happen. It had been so long. But no, she would hate herself if she accepted this without first suffering for it.

She took a deep breath, she needed to push harder, wanted a more physical reaction, craved the violence. She acted before she lost her nerve. The sound of her palm meeting Philippa's cheek echoed throughout the room. A biting sting bloomed across her hand. She regretted it the moment it was done.

"I'm so sorry...." Panic grew within her, and tears began to fall. Philippa was on her feet. 

"I think it's time for you to go." Philippa's thumb brushed her cheek wiping away the tears, but new ones took their place. "We can continue this another time should you decide you're prepared to offer me either honesty or obedience."

Triss felt a numbness engulf her, felt like she was drifting, her awareness of her motions stilted as she dressed and left the room. She had done it again. Geralt had not wanted her, Philippa had not wanted to be slapped. She really was the person Yennefer said she was, the person she had, for so long, suspected herself to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer felt the claws of tension grip her as she stalked through the streets. Margarita had been captured by witch hunters and was being held in Deireadh prison. She wanted to scream, wanted to find whoever put her there, and tear them apart. She had heard rumours of the horrors inflicted on inhabitants of that prison. Acid churned in her stomach. A feeling of helplessness snapped at her heels. She clung to her outrage, allowing it to form a shield as it engulfed her. Yennefer did not do powerless.

Yennefer felt the claws of tension grip her as she stalked through the streets. Margarita had been captured by witch hunters and was being held in Deireadh prison. She wanted to scream, wanted to find whoever put her there, and tear them apart. She had heard rumours of the horrors inflicted on inhabitants of that prison. Acid churned in her stomach. A feeling of helplessness snapped at her heels. She clung to her outrage, allowing it to form a shield as it engulfed her. Yennefer did not do powerless. They needed to get her out, needed to be quick, but the task before them was anything but simple. Only one person had ever escaped Deireadh, a man named Abbé Faria. Yennefer intended to have a talk with him. She was now headed for Crippled Kate's, an establishment the man was known to frequent. She hastened her step. A man ambled in front of her, he was too slow. She brushed past him, ignored his muttered curses as he protested the near-miss.

Upon her arrival, Faria was nowhere to be seen. Surveying the room, she found herself an unoccupied seat in the corner. She tossed a coin to one of the dancers and watched the woman gyrate before her with feigned interest. It was best to blend in. She purged all thoughts of Rita's current predicament from her mind. It would do neither of them any good for her to dwell on things beyond her control. She didn't need to fret, she just needed to fix it. A brief moment of calm flickered past her as new thoughts emerged. They were not an improvement.

She was still exasperated by Triss's disregard for her instructions. Idiotic. If she ended up on a stake, Yennefer might very well murder her. Her thoughts stoked the coals that simmered in the depths of her being causing sparks to spring upwards in a savage dance. She very much wished to get her hands on Triss. That line of thought caused her mind to drift back to Kaer Morhen. An invading force of fleeting images flashed through her consciousness, a reminder of the dream she wished to forget. She cursed her mind's betrayal. That was not what she meant! She ran her eyes over the dancer's body, felt nothing. It felt like vindication. She didn't desire women, she didn't crave Triss in that way.

Yennefer was jarred out of her thoughts by the sound of a door creaking open. He was here. She kept her eyes trained on him as he approached the bar. Gave him a moment to settle in. Once he began drinking, she made her approach. 

"Abbé Faria?" The man turned.

"Who wants to know?"

"I have a few questions."

"Damn!" Panic flashed through Faria's eyes as he pushed past her, sprinted for the door. Yennefer exhaled a heavy sigh and began her pursuit. Streets passed her by in a haze as she raced after him. Her foot caught on her skirt, she found herself teetering, succeeded, only narrowly, in steadying herself before she plunged headfirst into the mud. She wasn't dressed for this. The force of her pounding heart reverberated through her ribcage, and her lungs burned. Running was not her forte. Resentment bubbled within her. She would very much like to castrate the man for subjecting her to this indignity. She wished Geralt was here. He was far more adept at this sort of activity. She wished sorceresses were still afforded the respect they deserved so she could have paralysed Faria on the spot when he first tried to flee. Although, she supposed were that the case, this wouldn't have been necessary to begin with. They were in an alley now, and she cast a wary glance in all directions. They appeared to be alone. She took a risk, drew chaos into herself the expelled it in a wall of invisible force. Faria toppled to the ground. 

"What do you want from me?" He looked up at her, fear dancing in his eyes. "Please, just let me be."

"I only wish to talk." Yennefer failed to disguise the impatience in her tone. She didn't have time for this. They were too exposed. If someone had seen her...

"And stick a shiv between my ribs, I'll bet? Leave me to bleed out in the gutter?" He looked up at her mistrust written on his face.

"Look at me!" She stood over him, her irritation building, radiating outwards, a torrid heat fighting to escape her body. "Do I look like a fucking bandit to you?"

"No..." He pulled himself to his feet, his eyes scrutinising her. "I suppose not, but..."

"I'm please you agee." Yennefer's voice dripped with condescension. "There's no call for this running, you'd be worthless to me dead."

"So, you won't hurt me?"

"I wouldn't get ahead of myself if I were you, but if you cooperate, tell me your story, I'll have no reason to harm you. The sooner you give me what I want, the sooner you can be on your way."

"Fine." Faria's gaze flickered back and forth between her and the alley's entrance as if he expected the city guards to appear at any moment. Yennefer shared his sentiment. "We should go back to Kate's. It would be unwise to linger in the streets."

"Perhaps you're capable of good sense after all." They walked back to Kate's in silence. Yennefer maintained a threatening posture in case he tried to run again. He didn't.

Once back at Kate's, Yennefer ordered them both drinks and Faria began his story. It dragged on for far too long, was filled with unnecessary detail. An order lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she restrained her urge. Did not demand he get to the point. It wouldn't do to miss something relevant. It was with a silent groan of relief, she finally gained the knowledge she needed. 

He had faked his own death. The former apprentice of an apothecary, he had managed to scavenge sleeping mushrooms and belladonna, mixed them, ate the concoction. The man was fortunate to be alive. His 'body' was tossed into a pit, a pit which connected to the sewers. He had simply followed the sewers to where they met the river. If one could get out through the sewers, it stood to reason the reverse was true. Unfortunately, the guards had barred the outlet following his escape. She pondered the problem for a moment. Oxenfurt was built on elven ruins, it was reasonable to assume they connected to the sewers. If they could find an entrance to the ruins, they had their way in. She wished Faria farewell and began her return to the Rosemary and Thyme.

Her mind was occupied as she walked. She wished for Geralt and Ciri's speedy return. When she first heard of their plan to hunt Imelrith, her ire had been devouring. It had seeped into her bones, expelled all other thoughts. They had failed Ciri so many times, their separation had stretched into an eternity. Now they had her back, it was their chance to do things right. Stand between their daughter and all that might harm her, the way they failed to do when she was a child. 

Once her initial wrath dimmed, she came to realise she was wrong. Yennefer's own attempts to curb the girl's stubbornness through discipline, so many years ago, had been an abject failure, and Ciri had been a child then. She was an adult now. She was going to do what she wanted irrespective of their wishes, and that was her right. Yennefer was still troubled by the thought of her out there, beyond her reach, in peril yet again. However, a sense of pride rose, a warm glow leading her through the smoky fog of her misgivings. Ciri had grown into a remarkable young woman. She was glad they left before she had an opportunity to voice her sentiments. Geralt was right to stand by their daughter, and as far as either of them needed to know, Yennefer had held that opinion all along. Still, she would feel like she was one step from a precipice, drawing ever closer, until Ciri returned to her safe. 

She passed a group of city guards and her fear for Rita rushed back, a plague upon her mind. Unlike Triss, she had the good sense not to run off with inadequate preparation. She was not so witless as to believe she could slip into a witch hunter infested prison unscathed. Much less get back out accompanied by someone who might not be in a condition to fight. She would not drag any more sorceresses into the place. She hated to think of how many might already be held there, how many may have died there. She needed Geralt's assistance. The sooner he returned, the better. 

Her stomach twisted at the reminder of Triss's actions. She should have gone after her, insisted upon her return. They needed her. That was the sole reason for her concern. She tried not to dwell on the hollow feeling, which accompanied that excuse. So adrift in thoughts, she was almost startled when she found herself standing outside the Rosemary and Thyme.

"Triss?" The question came out like a demand as she walked through the doors.

"Last I saw her she was headed upstairs with Philippa." Zoltan replied.

"Naturally." Yennefer felt ambivalent. A part of her was relieved. Triss was safe, Philippa had been recruited. This was a win. However, discontentment swirled within her gut. She should be thrilled. Gods willing, Philippa would serve as a distraction, keep Triss occupied, away from her, away from Geralt. She told herself the distaste she felt when she pictured the events taking place in that bedroom came solely from the fact it was Philippa. She had never understood what Triss saw in the woman. She would feel comparable discomfort were any other member of their team to bed her. The vexation whose tendrils tore their way into her blood? Triggered by the memory of how Triss had cast their friendship aside the last time she fell into bed with Philippa, back when she had meant something to Yennefer. Perhaps she still meant something? A small voice questioned. She silenced it, purged all traces of its presence from her mind.

Her head throbbed with a dull ache, she stalked up the stairs, slammed the door behind her as she entered her room. She was glad to have a bed again. The hour was growing late, she disrobed, allowed herself to sink into the soft feather mattress. Feathers, fucking Philippa! She tossed a pillow across the room, but the effort was half-hearted. The day had been exhausting, she slipped into a restless sleep. Another dream shattered her chance at peace.

Rita was before her, chained to a wall, bleeding, broken, screaming. A throng of witch hunters advanced. She tried to draw chaos. Blinding pain. She looked down her wrists, saw them encircled by dimeritium cuffs. She reached for her. Blonde locks turned to chestnut. Suddenly, it was Triss who stood shackled before her. The witch hunters' features began to blur, becoming misshapen as they morphed into something new. A crowd of Philippas advanced on them now. The dimeritium was gone. Chaos exploded from her. Darkness.

She was back in bed, no longer alone. Triss was beneath her, still bleeding. Yennefer's hands wrapped around her wrists, holding her in place. The softness of her flesh pressed against her own. A coppery taste filled her mouth as she devoured her lips. 

The lips against her own grew cold, their movements slowed. She looked down, it was no longer Triss beneath her. Ciri lay on her bed, a dagger buried in her gut. Yennefer sprang backwards, looked down at her hands, crimson liquid dripped from them. Ciri lay still. Blood seeped from her body, soaked the sheets. She began to convulse as the life drained from her. A hand reached outwards.

"Mother..."

She awoke. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoed by a pounding at her door. It grew louder, more insistent. She groaned. She did not relish being woken and the best of times. The thought of human interaction before she had a chance to process that dream? It was unappealing, to say the least. Unless the person who dared to disturb her wished to be flayed alive, they were making a grave error. She threw on her robe and stalked across the room, flung the door open. 

Her gaze fell upon Triss. Eyes rimmed red, chestnut locks in disarray, the other woman looked distraught. Wasn't she supposed to be Philippa's problem now? Of anyone who could be here right now, this was the worst-case scenario. Well, perhaps not the worse. The sight of Philippa, at this moment, would be decidedly more unpleasant. Still, her current guest left much to be desired. She scrutinised the other woman more carefully, noted a dark red mark, the suspicious outline of teeth adorned her neck. Distaste welled within her. She gripped Triss's shirt and pulled her into the room. The Rosemary and Thyme was smaller than Kaer Morhen, more crowded. Yennefer suspected whatever conversation was about to occur would not be suitable for the hallway, did not need to overheard by prying ears. She slammed the door shut and pushed Triss back against it.

"Triss?" Her tone was dangerously low. She paused for a long moment, awaiting an explanation which did not come. "Are you going to tell me why you're here or shall I toss you back into the hall?"

"I did it again." Triss's voice trembled with emotion. This close Yennefer could feel the ragged exhale of her breath. "What I did to Geralt. I did it to Philippa."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She leaned forward, captured Yennefer's lips in a desperate search for comfort. Bit down until she tasted blood. Yennefer hissed, pulled back. Seized her wrists and forced them against the wall. Their lips crashed together again. Triss bit her again. Rough, demanding, they explored each other in a war for dominance Triss very much wanted to lose.

Triss shifted her weight from foot to foot, as if the change in position would relieve her discomfort. It didn't, for the ache was not physical. She studied the floorboards, noted the thick layer of dust which cloaked them. She was surprised Yennefer wasn't downstairs shouting at Dandelion about his staff's work ethic. She felt woozy. Her head swam. A dense lump of regret sank in the pit of her stomach, and choppy waters danced around it. She didn't dare peek at Yennefer's face, afraid of the expression she might find there. The silence as she awaited Yennefer's reaction dragged into an eternity. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but the laughter which rang out, filling the room was not it.

"Don't be absurd." Triss glanced up, watched as Yennefer stifled her mirth. The expression which replaced it drew an image to her mind, Tissaia faced with a question from a student she deemed dull-minded. "You're a woman, are you not? Alive? Willing? Everything Philippa could think to ask for in a lover. You don't honestly expect me to believe you forced yourself on her?"

"I slapped her." Triss's voice was whisper soft, laced with shame. 

" _You_ slapped Philippa?" Yennefer's mute stare penetrated her. She seemed uncertain what to make of the statement. When she finally spoke again, her tone reeked of condescension. "I would be impressed, were you not so tragically naive. If you slapped her and have yet to pay for the error, it is because it suits her interests." As if hit by a sudden recollection, she added. "I don't see how you think that resembles what you did to Geralt."

"It was during sex." Triss fidgeted, an uncomfortable warmth spread across her cheeks. "And I'm not a fool! I know Philippa never does anything without an agenda."

"I would say you're extremely foolish." Yennefer made no attempt to disguise the expression of distaste which swept across her features. "Philippa doesn't take disrespect lightly in any context. Yet here you are, succumbing to guilt when you should instead be wary and anticipating her next move. Either she plans to retaliate at a later time, or she wants something. Unless you think the fact you spread your legs for her makes you special, in which case you're more moronic than I thought." 

Silence drew out between them once more. A boiling resentment bubbled, low in Triss's belly, its attempts to surge higher suppressed. The waves of guilt which crashed over her pushed it back down. Kept any anger she felt at Yennefer's statement submerged under a layer of self-loathing. Triss pondered her words, knew there was a kernel of truth in them. Philippa felt most at home when scheming. Even genuine sentiment was a weapon in her political game, held back until it could be expressed with a calculated edge. She had been kind, uncharacteristically so, she desired something and deemed Triss capable of delivering it. Although, what that was Triss couldn't say. Ultimately, it didn't matter whether Philippa was manipulating her, if she saw Triss's actions as an opportunity, a tool to be used at a later time. This wasn't about Philippa. What Triss had done reflected on her own character regardless. 

"If that was all you had to say to me, get out!" Despite the order, Yennefer remained where she was, blocking the space Triss would need to comply with her demand.

Triss stood motionless, frozen in a moment of indecision. A brief thought invaded her mind, was her intention to disregard Yennefer's instructions more of the same? She assured herself no, well perhaps, but with how far Yennefer had taken things the last time, she hardly had a claim to the moral high ground. Besides, Yennefer has kissed her. She never asked for that. She considered the determination with which Yennefer had pulled her into the bedroom. The fact she was still standing so close Triss could feel her breath. Yennefer wanted this. Even, if she didn't Triss had already taken this path, did one more time really make a difference?

"No." She met Yennefer's gaze with feigned confidence, mustered an air of defiance. It hung upon her like borrowed clothes, didn't quite fit, but she clung to it.

"No? This is my bedroom, and I wish to sleep!" Yennefer's expression darkened. "Remove yourself before I throw you out!"

"Then throw me out." They both remained where they were eyes locked in a wordless challenge. It was Triss who broke the standoff, gripped Yennefer's shirt, pulled her forward. Their lips crashed together. She devoured her in desperation. Yennefer pushed her away, slammed her back into the door with jarring force. A hand connected with her cheek, leaving a prickly heat in its wake.

"I've had a terrible day, and I'm in no mood for this nonsense." The tone was biting.

"Then hurt me until you feel better." Yennefer chuckled at that.

"You're going to regret that request." Yennefer seized her, spun her around. A wave of magic flung her across the room. She found herself frozen in place just before she hit the wall. She was paralysed. Chaos crackled around her. She felt like her feet were growing roots, becoming one with the floor. A force she could not see crushed against her, her skin tingled, her body felt wrong. Yennefer advanced on her. A hand wrapped around her throat. "What do I need to do to ensure you don't come back."

She opened her mouth to speak, but a gagging spell came next, cast carelessly, she tasted blood. She felt a different kind of chaos engulf her, mingling with the paralytic magic. Her clothes disintegrated, all except for her undershirt. Her chest tightened, and a warmth rushed through her as tears pool in her eyes. Under the circumstances, she had not expected Yennefer would respect her feelings in that regard. Tendrils of silvery light sparked at the tips of Yennefers fingers, hovered in front of her just inches away. Yennefer held her gaze, and her hand moved closer. Her pace was slow, deliberate. The hand halted just before making contact, hovered for a second before sliding downwards, reaching its destination between her thighs. 

The pain was blinding, beginning at her core, it ripped through her until she felt it everywhere. It seared every inch of her being. She felt as if lightning were coursing through her blood. Convulsions waged battled with the spells which held her, her screams held captive in her throat. The agony chased all thoughts from her mind, leaving only the moment, the pain. There was a certain quiet to it, and she relished the escape. It felt like it went on forever, yet the end came far too soon, was too sudden. She came crashing back to reality. She could move again. She sagged against the wall, panting, as she caught her breath. Triss could have sworn she saw guilt flash across Yennefer's face, but it was quickly replaced with an impassive mask.

"Regretting this yet?"

Triss shook her head. She leaned forward, captured Yennefer's lips in a desperate search for comfort. Bit down until she tasted blood. Yennefer hissed, pulled back. Seized her wrists and forced them against the wall. Their lips crashed together again. Triss bit her again. Rough, demanding, they explored each other in a war for dominance Triss very much wanted to lose. Yennefer broke the kiss. Triss's whimper of disappointment turned into a moan as moments laters teeth sunk into the unmarked side of her neck. She noted the self-satisfied smirk which graced Yennefer's countenance as she regarded the mark. Triss pondered its meaning. Yennefer ran her tongue over the mark, and Triss wrenched her wrists from her grasp, tangled them in her hair. Yennefer nibbled her way down her neck until her lips found her collar bone. Teeth nipped at her again, more gently this time. 

Abruptly, Yennefer pulled back as if remembering she wasn't supposed to want this. Triss held her breath, waiting to be thrown out of the room. The weight of defeat bore down upon her. She despaired, watched the elusive reprieve from her inner monologue, slip through her fingers once again. Yennefer's hands gripped her once more, spun her around, pushed her forward. She felt her breasts press against the wall. 

"Why, won't you just leave?" Triss didn't answer, didn't think Yennefer expected it. Yennefer's hand connected with her ass. Triss gasped.

"Harder!" Yennefer didn't need further encouragement. The rhythm was unpredictable. At first, slow and measured, then hard and fast. The smacks rained down so quickly they blurred into a constant burn, each falling before Triss could fully register the pain from the last. Yennefer would focus on just the one spot until Triss was sure she could bear no more. Then she would alternate sides, work her way up and down, covering every inch of flesh from just below her tailbone to the middle of her thighs. Whenever Triss began to adjust to the rhythm, Yennefer changed the pattern keeping her off-balance, unable to anticipate what would come next. A heat built in her belly, mirroring the burning throb of her battered flesh. 

"Spread your legs." Triss complied. Yennefer's palm slapped against her core. Triss shuddered, inhaled a sharp breath, as her abdomen tightened. Yennefer smacked her again, harder, then again. Triss pressed her hips back against her, searching for more contact.

An arm wrapped around her waist, Yennefer's teeth nipped at her neck. Fingers plunged into her, the rhythm fast, almost violent. She felt wanted, consumed. She allowed herself to bask in the pretty illusion, forget that she would be tossed aside, all her problems returning like an avalanche, the moment this was over. She felt Yennefer's breath brush against her ear. A husky voice. 

"Touch yourself" Triss slipped her hand down and began to draw circles around her clit. The arm around her squeezed tighter.

"I fucking hate that I want this." The voice was soft, Triss wasn't sure if Yennefer meant to say that out loud. Her heart constricted as her fantasy collapsed around her. A realisation she had wished to avoid, broke through the haze of pleasure. She wanted Yennefer to want this and not just because she was angry. She craved the pain, but she wanted it from someone who cared. She longed for someone who would do this for her, not to her. Yearned for a lover who would punish her because they wanted her to do better, be better, believed her capable of such a thing. But this would have to do, it was probably the best she was going to get.

"I know." Her voice was equally soft. She let the pleasure wash all other thoughts from her mind, allowed herself to fall back into blissful ignorance. For this moment, she had paid for her crimes, she would allow herself to have this.

Yennefer continued to thrust into her, and Triss increased the speed of her fingers as they moved against her clit. She felt her muscles begin to contract, her body shuddered as spasms of ecstasy ripped through her, she reached back with her spare hand, tangled her fingers in Yennefer's hair.

"Oh gods, fuck, Yenna." Yennefers teeth sank into her neck again. She felt warm liquid gush down her thighs, leaned into the wall, allowed it to support her weight as exhaustion overtook her. Yennefer wiped her hand against Triss's back, then pulled away from her. Triss awaited a dismissal, but it did not come. She turned, breath still ragged. Mustered the energy to reach for her.

"Let me..."

"No." Yennefer stepped further away. Triss tried to mask her disappointment as a cloudy fog engulfed her. She remained where she was for a moment. A desolate stillness stretched out between them. She could see Yennefer staring at the bite marks on her neck.

"Keep them." Triss nodded, a spec of hope glimmered distant in the haze. Words escaped her. 

Her clothes rematerialised. While Yennefer didn't say it, Triss understood what was expected of her. She turned and made her way out of the room. 

She crept down the corridor, didn't wish for anyone to see her leaving Yennefer's room in her current state. As she passed the stairway. She heard raised voices. She couldn't make out all the words, but she caught one phrase.

"Your fucking sorceress!" Boomed throughout the establishment. Fuck. That sounded like Djikstra. She heard a door slam and spun around to see Philippa's approach. Phillippa paused.

"Good evening, Triss." Philippa's lips were set in an unreadable expression. Triss's heart rate spiked. She tried to reassure herself. Philippa was blind; she couldn't see her current condition. Could she? No, Triss had to believe no. She rubbed her neck, an attempt to rid herself of the self-conscious prickle which crawled through her skin. Philippa brushed past her and headed down the stairs. 

The voices continued, and she realised it was Geralt with whom Dijkstra argued. Soon Philippa's voice joined the cacophony. She began to descend the stairs. Then she remembered, while Philippa may not be able to see her, Geralt certainly could. Besides, she felt sapped of her energy, the thought of a confrontation only compounded on her exhaustion. Geralt and Philippa, as a combined force, could surely handle Dijkstra on their own. Triss needed to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rita, we're going to get you out of here." Yennefer felt like she was walking a tightrope between outrage and despair. Her heart shattered in slow motion as Rita began to mumble, her words unintelligible. She was going to burn every last one of them.

Fuck. Yennefer sank back into the bed as the door clicked shut behind Triss's retreating form. Disquiet plagued her mind, overpowering the soft warmth of the mattress and quilt which welcomed her. It would seem she was attracted to Triss. Resignation washed away her previous denials, and churning waters filled the space left behind. It seemed so clear now. Her thoughts of Triss had been like quicksand sucking her deeper the more she resisted. Perhaps, she could have avoided this had she acknowledged it earlier. She needed something solid to hold onto, to pull herself out of the abyss into which she was falling. She needed to exercise self-restraint. The feelings might be there, it would be foolish to deny that now. However, she could be better than this. She shouldn't act on them. She wouldn't. Not again. 

She was with Geralt. While they had never been strictly monogamous, Triss was different. Yennefer had reprimanded him for falling into bed with her, perhaps unfairly given the circumstances, she couldn't do the same. She would allow Geralt to serve as her anchor, use thoughts of him to keep herself firmly on the correct path. For good measure, she would stay far away from Triss. From now onwards, she and Triss would not be alone together. Satisfied with her solution Yennefer allowed herself to settle back into to sleep. This time she did not dream.

When Yennefer awoke, Geralt had returned. It seemed she had slept through quite the commotion. Dandelion regaled her with the story as she ate her breakfast. He had far too much energy for this hour of the morning. The events were recounted with far too much zest, and she was sure she missed some of the finer details. Her teeth ground harder against the warm bread, with each word. She regarded him with distaste. She had yet to shake off the haze of sleep, and to her great dissatisfaction, the tale was told in verse. 

From what she could gather, Dijkstra, upon hearing reports of Geralt's return, had barged into the Rosemary and Thyme ranting and demanding Philippa be returned to him. Geralt's attempt at a diplomatic conversation on the matter had been thwarted by Philippa's arrival. A heated argument had ensued along with some amount of property damage, a matter Dandelion lamented at great length. The issue had only been resolved when Philippa offered herself as bait in Dijkstra's plot to assassinate Radovid, a scheme in which Geralt was apparently taking part. While Yennefer wished to see the man dead as much as any sorceress, she felt frustrated by the revelation. 

Pressure built within her like steam within a pot creeping towards its boiling point, it filled her almost to bursting, searching for an escape. They didn't have time for political intrigue. Perhaps she was selfish, but her family was her first priority, and Geralt should feel the same. Radovid could wait, he would still be there once they were finished with the Wild Hunt. What were a few more lives in exchange for Ciri's safety? Rita's freedom? She was somewhat appeased when Geralt interjected, assuring her Rita would be their first priority. Somewhat, if this plan impacted on Ciri in any way, Geralt would find himself having an extremely bad day.

It took her all morning to find a way into the ruins. A sense of foreboding followed in her footsteps as she chatted with professors and searched the library at the University of Oxenfurt. At last, she found the information she sought. The elven ruins could be accessed through a well in the middle of the city. She sent a messenger to inform Geralt and made haste to their designated meeting spot.

She paced as she awaited Geralt's arrival. Each passing moment was an opportunity the witch hunters could use to cause Rita further harm. The city bustled around her. People hurried by, absorbed in their petty worries as if they could compare to her own. Others ambled through the streets in groups chatting with sickening cheer. She felt like the sun was falling from the sky, hurtling towards the continent with alarming speed, a signal of doom, yet only she could see it. Her stomach churned in a violent fight to expel the remanents of her breakfast. She could taste the bile which rose in her throat. The pounding of her heart reverberated through her body with such force she could feel it in her skull. She almost failed to notice Geralt's approach. Yennefer stilled when she saw him.

"Have you found a way in?" He appeared eager to begin. She nodded. With the knowledge they were about to take action, a semblance of control returned, and eerie calm engulfed her.

"Did you arrange any help?" The answer she hoped for did not come.

"We're on our own." Her newly returned composure faltered. That was not ideal, but they would have to manage. Success was their only option, she would not consider any other possibility. 

"Let's begin." She set off in the direction of the well at a brisk pace.

"Are you sure the guards aren't monitoring the passage though the ruins?" She looked back, Geralt's eyes were dilated as he glanced around the street, ever aware of his surroundings. He looked like a cat who had just sensed the presence of a rival.

"Trust, me they are not." Yennefer assured him. "Novigrad's hierarchs have gone to great lengths to eradicate all knowledge of the city's Elven history. Even of those who remember the ruins are here, few recall where or how far they extend, and those who do wouldn't dare mention it within hearing of the authorities." She picked up her pace.

"Here we are." She gestured as the well came into view.

"This is it?" Geralt regarded the well with a quizzical gaze. "Wasn't there a boulder plugging it until recently?"

"Yes, but I managed to convince two gentlemen passing by to remove it for us. With the incentive of a bit of gold, naturally." Yennefer's tone was clipped. These questions were unnecessary, a waste of precious time.

"Well, let's go." Geralt began his descent into the well. Yennefer peered after him with a grimace, she was not usually the type to debase herself by trudging through ruins and sewers, but this was Rita, one of her few friends. Perhaps her only friend after what happened with Triss. As much as she trusted Geralt's abilities, she was determined to be there every step of the way until Rita was back at the Rosemary and Thyme, safe. She only hoped they would not be too late.

Yennefer landed at the bottom of the well with a splash. The water which surrounded her was stagnant, foul-smelling. Geralt, who seemed unbothered by the stink, was already swimming towards an opening, leading the way to the adjacent chamber. Yennefer could not comprehend how he abided this sort of activity on a regular basis. She could almost feel the stench seeping into her skin, feared she would never be able to scrub it away. She followed him, struggled to match his pace. She was not dressed for this. After a moment's indecision, she divested herself of her cloak. It didn't matter if the witch hunters saw her face. If they crossed her path they would not live long enough to share the tale.

Geralt lit a torch as they emerged from the water. They took a moment to adjust, survey their surroundings. The characteristic growl of drowners rumbled up the hall. Geralt reached for his sword, and Yennefer drew chaos from the water. Lighting crackled at her fingers tips. 

They continued down the passage until it opened into a cavernous room. They were greeted by a swarm of the nasty vermin. Yennefer wrinkled her nose. The acrid smell of purified flesh was overpowering. Geralt plunged his sword into the nearest one while Yennefer rained lighting down upon them. The drowners were no match for their combined power. Soon the beasts lay motionless. They moved on.

In the next chamber, they encountered a sealed door. Geralt scrutinised the mechanism beside it.

"It's missing a part." He observed with a frown.

"Of course it is." Yennefer exhaled a heavy sigh. It would have been naive to expect this operation to progress smoothly, but Yennefer had hoped they wouldn't run into problems quite so soon.

"Replace it with something else, maybe?" Geralt mused more to himself than her. Yennefer nodded nonetheless.

"Wait here while I go find something." Geralt turned without awaiting her reply and headed back the way they came. Yennefer did not argue, she had no desire to return to the sludge that passed as water down here.

She waited. Without an activity with which to occupy herself, her unease returned. She tried not to picture what the witch hunters might be doing to Rita, but images invaded her mind, each more gruesome than the next. As the minutes dragged out, her agitation increased. She was beginning to contemplate going after him when Geralt returned with a lever. He inserted it into the mechanism and pulled it down. The door rumbled open, and they continued forward. 

The room behind the door appeared enclosed, the only exit the way they had entered. A lump began to form, heavy in the pit of her belly. The seconds dragged into an eternity as they examined the area, contemplating their next move. 

"That wall looks brittle." Geralt gestured. Yennefer turned her gaze to the indicated space, noted the cracks which snaked through the stone. Geralt cast Aard and the wall shattered, fragments of rock flew through the air, vanishing into the darkness before them. They stepped through the opening, found themselves greeted by more drowners. The monsters rushed at them, attracted by the noise, there were more this time. They seemed to come from all directions, surrounded them. Geralt grunted as he repelled them in a graceful dance. His sword moved as if it was a part of his body, and blinding light reflected off the blade as Yennefer summoned lightning again. Drowner flesh sizzled as fiend after fiend found themselves speared by silvery bolts of energy. Soon they were alone once more, the only sound in the chamber their heavy breathing. 

They proceeded further; they were in the sewers now. They arrived at a passage which sloped upwards, followed it until they reached its end. Geralt pointed up at a hole which marked the wall, high above them. He began to climb. Yennefer teleported into the chamber above. 

Startled shouts alerted them, the guards knew they were here. Geralt clambered into the room, drew his sword, but did not get a chance to use it. Yennefer was too quick. The sight of the guards evoked her fury. The torments which had lingered at the edge of her mind like shadows rushed back. Ciri, Rita, Triss... It all combined into an inferno which raged just beneath her skin. Chaos flowed from her, fire bursting from her fingertips. Before they had a chance to draw their swords, the guards were burning. The echo of their screams invigorated her. It was poetic. What they deserved. Reinforcements rushed in, met the same fate. She incinerated every guard she set eyes on as they continued further into the prison.

"What's happening?" A weak but familiar voice drew Yennefer out of her frenzy.

She saw her then, dishevelled, bloody, shackled, sitting on the floor of a cell. She knelt down, reached for her through the bars as Geralt came to stand behind her.

"Rita?"

"Who's that? Yenna? Geralt?" Oh, gods, I'm hallucinating again." Rita shook her head as if trying to regain clarity, brought a hand to her face. The dimeritium manacles around her wrists clanked with the movement. 

"Rita, we're going to get you out of here." Yennefer felt like she was walking a tightrope between outrage and despair. Her heart shattered in slow motion as Rita began to mumble, her words unintelligible. She was going to burn every last one of them. Rita turned to look behind her, and Yennefer realised she was not alone in the cell, behind her lay another figure, motionless. For a moment, Yennefer believed the woman was dead, but then she saw the body twitch.

"It's hopeless." Rita whispered to her companion "We're both going to die in here."

"Sheala?" Yennefer gasped in horrified recognition.

"They captured her first, her condition's critical." Rita turned back, stared through her for a long moment, Yennefer could see the war taking place in her head written on her face. Finally, she looked into Yennefer's eyes, as if choosing to accept she was actually there. "You shouldn't be here." She shook her head, eyes flickering back and forth, a panicked expression etched into her face. "It's pointless, you'll never get the door open without the key. The warden keeps it with him at all times. Get out of here Yenna, save yourself."

"Where's the warden?" Geralt interjected. 

"His room is upstairs. But Yenna..."

"We'll be back with the key." Yennefer rose, she hoped there would be many more witch hunters between this cell and that key.

They ascended the stairs to the prison yard. Guards rushed in their direction.

"Go find the warden! I'll handle the rest of them." Geralt took off in the direction of the warden's quarters. Yennefer drew chaos into herself, the magic thrummed through her, it made her feel alive. Flames erupted from her, scorching everything in her path. The guards, who just a moment ago rushed towards her, tried to flee, failed. She hurled fireball after fireball at their retreating figures. Their inhuman shrieks spurred her on. The ground blackened, the smell of charred flesh filled the air, caught at the back of her throat, but she barely noticed. She continued to expel her chaos, long after the last of the corpses stopped twitching. 

"Yen!" The sound of Geralt's voice drew her back to reality. She felt a sense of satisfaction as she surveyed the ashes around her. Geralt also took in the carnage, his expression unreadable. He didn't comment, just held up a key. They made their way back to Rita's cell together. 

Yennefer unlocked the door, moving to kneel next to Sheala as Geralt unshackled Rita. Her stomach twisted at the sight of her wounds. They looked worse up close. 

"Yenna, I won't make it, get Rita out." Sheala wheezed as she said the words.

"Hold on, we can do something." Yennefer helped Sheala into a sitting position. A panicked desperation filled her. Sheala coughed, splattering Yennefer's shirt with blood.

"It's too late, I'm dying Yenna. Please, let me die with dignity." Yennefer shook her head, opened her mouth, but words did not come. Geralt nodded.

"Yen?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Take Rita. Get out of here."

"Geralt, I..." Yennefer kept her eyes trained on Sheala, there had to be another way.

"Yenna, for once, just do as he says." Sheala's tone was pleading. Yennefer rose slowly, she stood motionless for a moment, she wanted to argue further, but if this was what Sheala wanted, she had to respect that. She helped Rita up, caught the other woman as she sagged against her, paused for one last moment. She looked back at Sheala. While she wouldn't describe her as a friend, seeing her like this broke something inside her. This should never have happened, not to any sorceress. She changed her mind at that moment, the plot against Radovid could not be carried out soon enough.

"Go." Geralt's voice was firm.

Yennefer forced herself to turn away. Acted before she lost her nerve. The events in the prison yard had drained her. She summoned the last of her energy, drew chaos from deep within her, focused on the space before her. A portal flickered open, she stepped through it, arms wrapped tightly around Rita. Dizzying darkness. The world whirled around them. Then they were back at the Rosemary and Thyme. Rita gripped her, knuckles white, she looked ill, the portal jump had not done any favours for her weakened state. 

Yennefer barked orders at the staff as she guided Rita upstairs. The other woman needed food and a bath. Philippa emerged from her room, drawn by the noise, Yennefer assumed.

"Rita?" Philippa enquired, her face etched with concern.

"I'm handling it." Yennefer didn't feel like she could handle a conversation with Philippa right now, even if their feelings were aligned in this case.

"See that you do." Philippa gave her a curt nod. Yennefer returned it, continued down the hall. After a moment she paused, looked back. 

"Philippa?"

"Yes?" The other woman waited expectantly. 

"Make sure Radovid dies slowly."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer's words kept slinking back into her head as she sat, stared, against her better judgement, unable to tear her gaze away. She watched Philippa as she and Geralt sat in the corner, revising the details of their plan, yet again. What did she want? More importantly, could Triss use it to get what she desired in return? While it wouldn't be ideal, Triss knew better than to expect anything from Philippa which lacked a transactional element. At least in such a relationship, she would know where she stood. That would be easier than dealing with the mixed signals she was receiving from Yennefer. There would be fewer opportunities for disappointment.

Triss's brow furrowed as she studied the surface of the table. Tried to keep her gaze anywhere besides fixed upon Philippa, who sat on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with Geralt. She couldn't escape the feeling that Yennefer had been avoiding her. Triss tried to tell herself she was paranoid, Yennefer was preoccupied with Rita. She had not ventured out of her room since Yennefer had, more or less, carried her upstairs the previous afternoon. Of course, after what she had endured, Yennefer would and should, prioritise Rita's wellbeing over whatever was taking place between them. 

Triss squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shook herself. She tried to push away the doubts which crept into her mind. A crushing weight descended upon her, accompanied by a burning warmth which made her skin prickle. She felt like every eye in the room was trained upon her in silent judgement. What was wrong with her? How could she be so selfish? Her mind should be filled with concern for Rita. She should be mourning Sheala. Instead, she was sitting here wrapped in self-pity, yearning for at least one of the women she desired to bestow their attention upon her. It was with shame she realised, for the moment, she didn't even care which.

As much as she tried to fight the thoughts, they kept coming back, penetrated her defences with practised ease. Images of each occasion Yennefer had left Rita's side flashed through her mind on repeat. She couldn't help but notice, each time Yennefer passed her in the hall, she made a point to avoid eye contact. It left Triss off-balance. Yennefer had told her to keep the marks. That had to mean something. However, the one time she had caught Yennefer's gaze, the other woman had immediately looked away, as if the mere sight of Triss was an affront to her. Triss curled inwards, arms crossed over one and other, fingers digging into her own waist as she willed herself not to look up. Like a fish deposited in the middle of the Korath desert, she felt like she was flailing. She felt out of place, uncertain how to respond to her circumstances.

Earlier that day, Triss had wanted to check on Rita. She was almost at her door when Philippa stopped her in the hallway. With a shake of her head she insisted, Rita needed space, Yennefer was attending to her. Philippa was probably right, but Triss worried. Did Yennefer even know how to provide the kind of support Rita would need after her ordeal? While Triss had never been as close to Rita as Yennefer was, she was far more adept at caring for people. Could probably do a better job. A small voice in the back of her head questioned if perhaps she was being selfish again. If maybe, she just wished for the company. The guilt which had shadowed her all day began to wrap around her in a suffocating embrace. Here she was, yet again, absorbed in her own feelings to the expense of everyone else. This was why, in the end, she would never be anyone's first choice.

As she sat, patrons of the Rosemary and Thyme bustled around her, yet she felt entirely alone. Geralt and Philippa were preoccupied, plotting with Dijkstra, and Ciri was gone more often than not, only the gods knew where. Dandelion or Zoltan might have provided her company if she sought them out, but she couldn't find the will to do so. Triss found herself longing for Philippa's touch. She lost the battle, raised her eyes to study the other woman's form.

Philippa had been aloof since she dismissed Triss from her bedroom. Not that such behaviour was out of the ordinary. In a sense, it almost served as a comfort, it was familiar. Evoked fewer questions than the alternative. However, there were moments she could have sworn she saw Philippa staring at her across the room. She dismissed the feeling. It wasn't possible. The hint of hope which sneaked up on her was overshadowed by unease. If Philippa had been able to see her in the stairway the other day? No. She wouldn't entertain the possibility.

Yennefer's words kept slinking back into her head as she sat, stared, against her better judgement, unable to tear her gaze away. She watched Philippa as she and Geralt sat in the corner, revising the details of their plan, yet again. What did she want? More importantly, could Triss use it to get what she desired in return? While it wouldn't be ideal, Triss knew better than to expect anything from Philippa which lacked a transactional element. At least in such a relationship, she would know where she stood. That would be easier than dealing with the mixed signals she was receiving from Yennefer. There would be fewer opportunities for disappointment.

"Triss, are you okay?" She was jarred from her musings as Ciri sat down on the other side of the table. 

"I'm fine." Triss finally tore her gaze from Philippa, tried to plaster a smile on her face as she focused her attention on Ciri. "But how about you? We've barely had a chance to talk."

"I'd rather not dwell on it." Ciri's brow wrinkled, and a ghost of a frown flitted across her face. "I'll be fine as soon as we've dealt with the Wild Hunt." They sat together for a moment, Triss grasped for words, but they did not come. A grin spread across Ciri's face which looked almost as forced as Triss pictured her own to be. "So, Philippa...?"

"What?" Triss almost choked on her own breath.

"You've been staring at her, looking conflicted. And anyone who has spoken to Keira knows there's history between you." Ciri cast an appreciative glance in Philippa's direction. "You have good taste."

"It's complicated..." Triss had intended to say more but the words caught in her throat. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have. Silence stretched out between them.

"Want to get out of here for a while? Ciri asked. "You look like you could use a bit of sunshine." Triss nodded, grateful for the change of topic. It might indeed help to remove herself from temptation's path, and she could use the distraction. Besides, she had missed Ciri, had yet to spend time with her since her return.

"I know just the place." Triss rose. Ciri followed as she made her way to a storeroom behind the bar. 

"We're spending the afternoon in the storeroom?" Ciri fixed her with a quizzical frown. Triss smirked. She was starting to feel a little better already.

"No" Triss shook her head as she began to draw chaos into her. "It would be unwise to do this where customers can see us." She elaborated as a portal flickered open before them. "Let's go." 

Ciri took a step forward, then paused. She reached for a bottle of Temerian rye which sat on the shelf beside them. 

"Okay, now we can go." She held the bottle up with a triumphant grin.

Triss rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth as she stepped into the portal, Ciri close behind. Familiar darkness engulfed her, she felt dizzy, an invisible force crushed against her flesh. 

They emerged in a forest clearing. Triss blinked a few times as she adjusted to the returning light. She stood for a moment soaking in the sunshine. The golden warmth of the afternoon caressed her skin. The timbre of the wind rustling through the trees, and the chirping of birds, combined creating a melodious refrain. She drank in the sight of pink and yellow flowers, a small bubbling stream. A rabbit hopped past, and Triss smiled as she watched it. A genuine smile this time. For a moment, her worries retreated. They still lingered at the back of her mind, but they allowed her some space. Enough to be swept away by the tranquil beauty. She loved this place.

"I used to come here sometimes to escape the city. To pretend that..." Triss's voice faltered as memories began to materialise in her mind.

"That the witch hunters didn't exist?" Ciri surmised. "That there weren't charred bodies on display in the square?" She sat down on the grass, opened the bottle, took a swig.

"You should have brought cups, Ciri!" Triss protested. Ciri grinned and held out the bottle. Triss voiced no further objections as she accepted it. She sat down beside Ciri, took a sip, allowed the liquid to coat her tongue.

"Gods! That's ghastly." She coughed, her throat burned. "Couldn't you have taken a bottle of wine instead?" Ciri chuckled and snatched the bottle back.

"Do you remember when you taught me how to use make-up?" Ciri asked inhaling another draft of whiskey.

"Of course." Triss allowed herself to bask in the pleasant memory. She took the bottle as it was offered again, brought it to her lips, grimaced at the taste.

"Did you know, when Vesemir asked me what I had on my eyelids I told him greater self-esteem?"

"I didn't know that." Triss almost choked on the liquid which filled her mouth. Ciri snorted, but her mirth was short-lived. A shadow passed over her face, and she reached for the whisky once more.

"You miss him, don't you?" Triss looked at her friend with concern, and Ciri nodded. They sat, remained quiet for a long time. They continued to drink in companionable silence as the daylight faded to dusk. With each sip, Triss found the taste more tolerable, and a foggy warmth began to fill her. 

"Triss, do you ever wish you were ordinary?" Ciri finally broke the silence. 

"I have enjoyed many freedoms which would not be afforded to a normal woman. For many years I believed myself privileged because of it." Triss paused lost in thought. "Now? I'm not so sure. Sometimes... yes." 

"I haven't felt free for a long time." Ciri stared ahead into the growing darkness. "This damned elder blood feels like a curse. It may have granted me powers, but I've wasted my life fleeing and hiding because of it."

"Ciri..." Triss reached out, placed a hand on her arm. "We're going to defeat Eredin, and after that, you'll be free. You can make up for lost time, be anyone or anything you choose to be."

"If only it were that simple." Ciri exhaled a sigh and placed her head on Triss's shoulder. Everyone seems to have plans for me. Even if Eredin were gone, there's still my father... my biological father that is." 

"And if you don't want to fulfil his wishes then you won't. Ciri, you can travel between worlds. The emperor of Nilfgaard will not decide your fate!" They slipped into silence again. Triss turned her head to look at Ciri. "So, tell me, once we defeat the Wild Hunt, what do you want to do?"

"I want to be a witcher." Ciri's response was immediate.

"Then you'll be a witcher." Triss had no doubts. She was sure, Ciri could achieve anything she set her mind to. The bottle continued to travel back and forth between them as they talked.

"Are you sure you're okay, Triss? You've seemed... different lately. When I was a child, you seemed so full of life, but now..."

"I don't think any sorceress is happy when the witch hunters are..." Triss didn't finish the sentence. Didn't feel she needed to.

"It seems like more than that." Ciri pulled back and turned to look at her. Triss could almost feel the intensity of her gaze.

"Sometimes, I wonder..." Triss paused, searching for the right words. "I wonder if I would be less alone if my life had taken a different path."

"You're not alone, Triss!" Ciri's voice was fierce. "Geralt, Yennefer, and I, we all love you." Ciri wrapped her arms around her.

Triss felt a stabbing pain in her chest at the mention of Yennefer. She doubted that was true. In the case of Geralt, she almost hoped it wasn't. She didn't deserve his affection. Guilt crashed back down upon her. She began to wonder, would a time come when her actions began to effect Ciri?

"I didn't mean it like that. I just..." Triss's voice trailed off. She wasn't sure what to say. She squeezed Ciri back. "I love you, Ciri."

"You wish that Philippa loved you?" Ciri snuggled closer to her.

"I don't know. Maybe? Sometimes I do, but there's someone else... it doesn't really matter. I don't think either of them would ever..." Despite the haze of drunkenness, in that moment Triss found clarity. She had to stop what she was doing with Yennefer. Ciri had too much to deal with right now, it wasn't fair to her. Triss had already caused enough harm. 

"You won't know if you don't try. If you want Philippa, go after her. What have you got to lose?" Ciri sounded so sure of her solution. Triss wished it were that easy. "Although, if you do end up choosing this other person, let me know because I wouldn't mind..."

"Be careful Ciri." Triss interjected. "Philippa, she might, um..."

"Try to fuck me just to piss off Yennefer?" Ciri took another gulp of whisky. 

"Yes..."

"I think I could live with that. Have you seen Philippa?" Ciri passed the bottle to Triss yet again.

"Yes, I have seen Philippa." Triss brought the bottle to her lips. She was beginning to enjoy the burn as the liquid slid down her throat.

"And a lot more of her than I have, I'll bet." Ciri smirked. "We should go back, and you should talk to her."

"I don't know if I can."

"Then have some more to drink, because the sooner you resolve this, the sooner I'll know whether I can have her." Ciri nudged the bottle, still clasped in Triss's hand.

"Ciri!" Triss protested but did as Ciri instructed. Ciri jumped to her feet, gripped Triss's hand and pulled her up, almost tripping in the process. They both burst into peels of laughter. Triss felt unsteady, her head was spinning. She hadn't realised quite how much she'd had to drink until she tried to move. She took a deep breath. Emboldened by her drunken state and Ciri's encouragement, she nodded. She could do this.

"Alright, I'll do it." Ciri gripped her arm, and the forest around them blinked out of existence. This time it was blinding light which enveloped them.

Within moments they were back in the storeroom at the Rosemary and Thyme. Triss and Ciri leaned against each other, steadied themselves. Ciri's form of teleportation felt different from anything Triss had experienced before, and it had been decades since she had last teleported drunk. She felt woozy, her stomach churned. Once she felt able to stand unassisted, she left the storeroom, surveyed the space around her. Philippa and Geralt were no longer present.

"Go!" Ciri pushed her in the direction of the stairs. Triss's vision swam before her eyes, and she felt herself sway, but she forced herself to continue. She gripped the bannister to steady herself as she climbed the stairs. The world around her felt fuzzy, she almost tripped, more than once.

Soon she stood before Philippa's door, she inhaled a deep breath. She willed the contents of her stomach to stay put as she knocked.

"Yes?" Philippa's voice ushered her in. Triss pushed the door open. Stood frozen in the entry. Philippa sat on the other side of the room, she was clad in a navy blue robe, her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders in waves. She turned her head in the direction of the sound but made no attempt to get up.

"You said you want honesty from me yet you don't offer it in return." Triss blurted the statement out before she lost her nerve.

"Good evening to you too, Triss. So, lovely to see you. Won't you come on in?" The sarcasm in Philippa's voice was biting.

"I'm sorry I slapped you, but the way you reacted... it wasn't like you. I need to know why?" Triss was proud that her voice remained steady as turmoil swirled within her.

"You disrespected me, and in return, I gave you the opposite of what you wanted." Philippa spoke the words as if she were addressing a child she deemed less than bright.

"You were too nice about it. I want to know what you want from me?" Triss stepped inside the room, pushed the door closed behind her. "There has to be something, I know you."

"And how would sharing such information benefit me?" Philippa's expression remained fixed in an emotionless mask.

"If I knew what you wanted, I might be prepared to give it to you. Assuming you are prepared to give me what I want in return." Triss hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in short gasps, the fog which clouded her mind combined with the dizzy hum of nerves until she felt like she might pass out.

"Triss, in your current state, I doubt you would be of any use to me. You're hardly at your most functional." Triss felt her heart shatter at the words. Was that why Philippa had pretended to care? She thought a little kindness would pull her out of the void, assist her back into a mental state which would prove useful? Had she now judged Triss to be such a disaster she had given up on the endeavour? Triss pushed through the pain. She had known Philippa had an agenda, it didn't matter. She needed to remain focused on her goal.

"Then help me be functional." Triss took a deep breath. "Phil, I did something. I won't tell you what. I can't... but I feel like I need to be punished, again, and again, it's never enough. But pain, it helps me feel better. Makes me feel like maybe I could be worth something, at least for a while..."

"That's not healthy, Triss." Philippa rose and crossed the space between them. She was close enough to touch now, the scent of cinnamon and muskroot flooded Triss's senses.

"Do you think I don't know that? I need to get out of my head. Stop judging me and just help me!" Triss stepped forward, found herself reeling. She gripped Philippa's arm to steady herself. "I'll give you whatever it is you want, do whatever you demand..."

"And if I demand you stop this?" Philippa's pulled herself from Triss's grasp. 

"Anything but that..." 

"I'm planning to reform the lodge." Philippa began to pace the length of the room.

"I'll join." Were she sober Triss might have felt shame at the pleading tone with which those words fell from her mouth, but right now she didn't care. Philippa paused, turned to face her.

"I've already told you, I'm unwilling to participate in anything which resembles what you do with your other lover." 

"I'm not asking you to. I just want something like what we used to have." Triss held her breath, waited, afraid of the response she might receive.

"I'll consider your proposition." Philippa brushed passed her, pulled the door open, gestured for her to leave.

"But...?"

"You're far too drunk for your company to be of interest to me." Triss exhaled a bitter sigh, her body felt heavy, and her heart constricted as if collapsing in on itself. She took in the impatience etched on Philippa's face, and tears began to fall. "Goodnight, Triss." The words were an order which did not welcome debate.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer made her way down the hall. Her intention had been to seek out Geralt. However, as if by their own design, her feet carried her straight past his door. Instead, she found herself at another door, Triss's door. She didn't bother to knock. Pushed on it harder than necessary. She was greeted by the sight of Triss, who scrambled out of bed as the door flew open.

Yennefer's head throbbed as she headed up the stairs a bowl of soup in hand. Rita was barely eating, and she was determined that issue be rectified. She was exhausted. She had spent almost every moment since Rita's return by her side, and the experience had not been conducive to rest. Rita spent the nights slipping in and out of fitful sleep. She tossed and turned, often clung to Yennefer with a vice-like grip, nails digging into her flesh hard enough to mark. Rita called out Sheala's name, woke up screaming. In those moments, Yennefer felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs, the words of reassurance she wished to speak would not come. She didn't know what to say, what words would bring her friend comfort, so she said nothing at all. She would pull Rita close, hold on to her as if her body were a physical manifestation of the control which was slipping through her fingers. Wouldn't let go until the other woman fell back to sleep. 

During daylight hours, Yennefer could nearly convince herself Rita was getting better. As they sat together in Rita's room drank, reminisced, there was an air of normalcy. In some moments, they would find themselves so wrapped up in pleasant memories that the ugliness of their current world slipped away. As they laughed together, Yennefer could almost forget how much things had changed, how much Rita had changed. Rita's company took her back to a time before the witch hunters, before the war. However, there were cracks in the facade. A wrong word on Yennefer's part and Rita could slip back into the state in which they had found her. Would stare through her, mumbling to herself. Rita jumped at loud noises, looked panicked when Yennefer left the room. She wondered if perhaps she should have swallowed her pride, allowed Philippa to be the one to do this. Even as the thought crept into her mind, she banished it. A race against time to halt that spiral before the guilt, forever lingering on the horizon, crashed down upon her.

Yennefer was jarred from her musings as she caught sight of Triss, approaching from the other end of the corridor. Triss glanced at her, froze. They stared at one another for a moment. A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across Triss's face before she turned, scurried off in the opposite direction. When Yennefer had first resolved to avoid Triss, the other woman had tried to capture her attention at every opportunity. It seemed, however, Triss was now returning the favour. Yennefer remained where she was for a moment, her purpose for being in the hallway briefly swept from her mind. The abrupt change in Triss's behaviour was making her head spin, she couldn't fathom what had prompted it. 

Her own reaction prompted further unease. The relief she should feel at this development was nowhere to be found. This was the best-case scenario, precisely what she needed. Temptation had been removed from her path. With cooperation from Triss, abiding by her resolution would be effortless. Yet, she felt a numbness wash through her, a dull ache penetrated her heart. She shook herself, this was not the time for such self-indulgence, she needed to get back to Rita. Whatever this was could be examined at a later time, or perhaps not at all. Yes, not at all sounded perfect to Yennefer. She tore herself from her stupor, kept moving.

When she reentered the bedroom, Rita was sipping from a goblet of wine, by no means her first of the day. While excessive indulgence in drink was hardly new for Rita, it did not escape Yennefer's attention that she had partaken in a tad more than usual. Yennefer exhaled a shaky sigh as she sat down beside her friend. She silently pleaded to the deities whose existence she doubted that tonight this would be easy. 

"Rita, please eat something." She placed the soup on the table turned to Rita, desperation rising in her chest.

"I don't feel like eating. Tonight I wish to get drunk." Rita took another draft of her wine. "Join me." She poured some into another goblet and pushed it in Yennefer's direction.

"You're already drunk." Yennefer made no move to reach for the wine. "Just a few bites, Rita."

"Remember that night in the bathhouse at the Silver Heron?" Rita ignored her request. "Such a shame that soldier was a woman. Do you remember the look on Tissaia's face?" Rita giggled. Yennefer nodded, She remembered clearly how they had posed provocatively together, their intention to make Tissaia's guest uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the guest in question had shown complete disinterest in their antics. Although Tissaia had been furious they would do such a thing in front of Ciri. Yennefer was unable to muster the same mirth Rita was enjoying. She did not want to think about Tissaia, did not wish to recall the events of the days which followed that night.

Rita became drunker, and the soup grew colder. Yennefer could feel her headache intensify as Rita continued to recount past shenanigans in a joyous tone which did not quite reach her eyes. Yennefer nodded along, uncertain of what to say. It was becoming increasingly apparent, Rita needed a type of help which Yennefer could not provide. She felt useless, a burn smouldered deep within her, slowly building. Her failure begat vexation, she resented that events had lead them here in the first place.

"Eat the fucking soup!" She pushed the bowl in Rita's direction with greater force than intended. It fell from the table with a crash. Rita jumped, her goblet slipping from her fingers, joining the mess on the floor.

"Rita I..." Yennefer reached for her, but Rita cringed away. She seemed to curl in on herself, arms wrapped around her middle staring into space, eyes glassy.

"No... get away..." It was a protest, but Yennefer could hear resignation in her voice

"Rita, it's me." Yennefer placed a hand on the other woman's arm

"Don't touch me... don't hurt her..." Rita shook her head. Yennefer drew back found herself frozen as she took in the panicked look in the other woman's eyes. The sinking sensation started in her chest, worked it's way down as if an invading force were trying to crush her organs from the inside. She felt like her ribs were constricting as her breath escaped her. All she was doing was making it worse. The silence stretched out, as accusations swirled in her mind. She was failing Rita, and by virtue of that, she was also failing Ciri. At last, Rita's voice broke the silence, Yennefer gripped on to the distraction, used it as a lifeline to draw herself out of the darkness which was closing in around her. 

"Yenna? I feel dizzy." Rita stood, gripped on to the back fo the chair to steady herself. Continued to hold on, knuckles turning white, as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Yennefer sighed, of course, she would feel unwell, she hadn't eaten and had been drinking for most of the day. Yennefer poured a glass of water which Rita accepted, much to her relief.

"Come lie down." She placed a hand on Rita's back, guided her to the bed with a gentle touch.

"Yenna?" Rita looked up at her as she lay down.

"Yes?" 

"Hold me?"

Yennefer nodded and lay down beside her, wrapped an arm around her. Rita snuggled closer.

"I miss Sheala." Rita's voice was so soft she might have missed it, but she didn't. The words made her heart ache. She couldn't help but feel like that was her fault too.

"I know." Yennefer tried to clear her mind, focus only on her senses, the flicker of candlelight, the warmth of her friend's body pressed against her, the sound of Rita's breath, the acrid smell of vomit not yet cleaned off the floor. She would need to attend to that shortly.

"It's my fault she's dead." Rita whispered.

"No, it's not." Yennefer stroked her hair. "It's mine."

Yennefer could feel the other woman's body tremble as she sobbed beside her. She pulled her closer, clung to her the same way she clung to her composure until Rita drifted into sleep.

She sat up then, remained where she was, the mess she had intended to clean momentarily forgotten. She watched Rita's sleeping form. Tears began to fall, and she swiped them away. She should have controlled herself, should be doing more. She ran her fingers through her hair. Her stomach turned. She stared ahead, looking at nothing as the seconds drew out into a lifetime. Why did she always let people down? She had dragged Ciri into the middle of a coup so many years ago, for what? Because Tissaia asked it of her? Her daughter spent years alone, lacking their protection because of her. In the end, the decision hadn't done Tissaia any good. She had hurt Geralt more times than she could count. Now, she couldn't even convince Rita to eat a bowl of soup.

Rita was lost deep within an abyss of suffering. Yennefer wanted to pull her out, but she didn't know how to begin. Perhaps it had been foolish to think she could try. This evening had shown, she lacked even the self-restraint to keep from adding to her friend's pain. What was she doing here? She tucked a lock of hair behind Rita's ear. For the moment, passed out as she was, Rita looked peaceful. She couldn't do this, couldn't be here. Yennefer needed an escape, from the situation, from her own mind. Shame welled in her belly, as she headed for the door, spread out, claimed her body as its own. She had left Sheala to her fate, and now she was abandoning Rita too.

Yennefer made her way down the hall. Her intention had been to seek out Geralt. However, as if by their own design, her feet carried her straight past his door. Instead, she found herself at another door, Triss's door. She didn't bother to knock. Pushed on it harder than necessary. She was greeted by the sight of Triss, who scrambled out of bed as the door flew open.

"Yenna?" Triss stared at her, the confusion of one just startled from sleep marking her features. Yennefer did not respond, crossed the room at a brisk stride. She gripped Triss's shoulders with bruising force, pulled her close. One hand wrapped around the back of Triss's neck as she claimed her lips. Swallowed her startled yelp. Her kiss was desperate, violent, possessive as their lips crashed together. After a moment, Triss relaxed against her returned the kiss with as much need as Yennefer felt. Teeth sank into her lip. Yennefer hissed pulled back, slapped Triss in the face. The warmth that sparked in her palm was echoed between her thighs, and she felt her abdomen clench. 

She pushed Triss until she fell back onto the bed. Straddled her using her own weight to pin the other woman to the mattress. Kissed her again. Devoured her. Triss's hands tangled in her hair as she whimpered against her mouth. It felt intimate. Too intimate. What was she doing here? Yennefer had vowed to herself she wouldn't do this. Her mind shouted at her to leave, but she couldn't bring her body to obey. She gripped Triss's wrists, pinned them above her head, sank her teeth into her neck until the coppery taste of blood spread across her tongue. 

"You won't touch me unless I tell you to." She pulled back slightly to take in the other woman's face. If she was going to do this, she needed to keep herself detached. Triss trembled beneath her, nodded. Yennefer released her. "Keep them there." She wrapped a hand around Triss's throat, squeezed. Observed in fascination as her eyes rolled back a little. Kissed her again, drew the remaining breath from her. She felt Triss struggle against her, the other woman's fingers grasped at her arm nails digging into her flesh almost hard enough to break the skin, as Triss became more desperate for oxygen. Yennefer relaxed her hold but kept her hand where it was as her mouth trailed down Triss's neck, nipped at her collar bone. She drank in the salty taste of her skin as if it were a drug.

As Triss caught her breath, she did not return her hands to the place Yennefer had designated. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her, pulled at her. She tried to draw her closer as if Yennefer's body, as it currently was, pressed against her own, was still not enough. As if she wanted to draw Yennefer into herself completely. Yennefer drew back, slapped her again, harder this time, relished in the sting which spread across her palm, waited expectantly. Triss placed her hands back above her head, worried her lip between her teeth, caught Yennefer's gaze. A myriad of emotions, faintly visible, swirled behind her eyes. Yennefer could see a certain softness there that made her stomach flip in a manner not entirely unpleasant. She sat for a long moment, a thigh on either side of Triss's hips. Studied the woman beneath her, became lost in questioning eyes. She rose.

"Strip" Triss complied, knelt on the bed as she removed her clothing, piece by piece until her undershirt was all that remained. She hesitated. Yennefer's heart constricted as she watched Triss's indecision. A part of her yearned for Triss to deem her worthy of her trust in that way. In this moment, she wanted to see her, all of her. It was with regret she acknowledged she had done nothing to deserve it. She shook herself. Where had that come from? That wasn't why she was here. She climbed back onto the bed, reached for Triss again before the other woman could overthink her decision any further, before she, herself, could overthink any further. Wasn't she here precisely because she didn't want to think? Although truth be told, she lacked an adequate explanation for why she was here rather than with Geralt. She pushed Triss onto her back. Gripped her wrists and slammed them down above her head once more. 

"Keep them there this time." She ran her nails down Triss's arms, leaving angry red trails in her wake. 

She nipped at Triss's lip again as she buried her fingers in her core. She smirked as Triss gasped against her lips. Thrust into her at a measured pace. Slid down her body to claim her prize with her mouth. She lapped at the swollen folds, relishing the taste of her. Trailed her tongue past her clit, again and again, missing it by design. Triss groaned, squirmed, tried to press herself against Yennefer's face.

"I didn't say you could move." Yennefer slapped her thigh. Triss tried to keep still as Yennefer continued her teasing, failed, but didn't try to take control again. Yennefer drew back for a moment to look at her. Drank in the sight of Triss writhing against the mattress, desperately fighting her urge to demand more. Yennefer could see the conflict playing out on the other woman's face. She relented, dove back in, captured Triss's clit between her lips. Triss moaned as she circled it with her tongue, nipped at it gently, before settling into a firm rhythm, increased the pace of her fingers as they moved inside her. Triss bucked against her face, tangled her fingers in Yennefer's hair. Yennefer slapped Triss's thigh again, but Triss made no attempt to comply with the wordless demand. Yennefer told herself she should stop in response to the defiance, but she lacked the will to do so. For now, the world was quiet. The two of them, here, in this moment, were all that existed. She didn't want to give that up. She continued her efforts, revelling in every noise she could wring from the other woman. She picked up her pace as she felt Triss's body tremble harder beneath her, muscles clenched around her fingers. She could feel the spasms as pleasure rushed through Triss's body.

"Yenna!" Triss exhaled grasping at her hair harder until it felt like she was trying to tear it from its roots. Fluid gushed from Triss's core, wetting her face. She tried to catch as much as she could with her tongue, savoured the taste of her. 

Triss collapsed against the mattress, and Yennefer moved to lie beside her. Propped herself up on her elbow, watched her as she caught her breath. Her brain screamed at her to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to want to, she remained frozen.

Triss must have forgotten they were in her room this time, without being asked, she moved to follow their usual routine, began to push herself up to a sitting position. Yennefer said nothing, reached out, pushed Triss back down onto the mattress, threw an arm across her body. She knew she would regret this in the morning but right now she didn't care. In this moment, it was all she wanted. She pulled Triss closer.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Triss looked over at Yennefer, she wanted to grasp her tighter, hold on forever, plunge headfirst into the abyss just so long as she was there beside her. A crushing weight bore down on her chest, as her earlier thought returned. She knew Yennefer. When she woke, she would be furious at herself for allowing this to happen. It seemed cruel that Triss be given a taste when she knew it would be torn away as soon as the cloak of night faded.

Triss lay awake long after Yennefer had fallen asleep. In the initial moments following Yennefer's decision to stay, she had been at peace. A faint light pierced the everlasting shadow, which had become her closest friend. It had been aeons since she felt this way. Wanted, valued, not guilty for the fact. She listened to the soft rise and fall of Yennefer's breath as the heat of the other woman's body banished the chill from her skin. A cosy, contented warmth filled her. The more she sank into it, the more she realised how much she had craved this. Not just this feeling but the person who had gifted it to her. Maybe all the actions which had led her here had, on some level, been about Yennefer. Perhaps, even that night with Geralt, the event where this all began. 

There was validation in the fact Yennefer came to her this time. It confirmed what she kept imploring herself to believe. Yennefer wanted this just as much as she did. It eased the nagging worry that lingered at the back of her mind. Reassured her, what she was doing with Yennefer did not bear a resemblance to what she did to Geralt. The peace was fleeting.

A small voice in the back of her mind invaded, bringing the stillness to an end. It whispered to her in a mocking tone. Reminded her that Yennefer was unlikely to be happy about this in the morning. Triss found herself fixated on her breathing. Each breath was too loud. She tried to remain motionless as if the slightest movement would wake the woman beside her, snatch away the remanents of her long-sought comfort. She tried to dispel it, cling to the comfort she had yearned for, but doubt descended upon her, snatched it from her hands. She felt herself yet again sliding backwards. It was like she was climbing a slope, but loose gravel beneath her feet impeded her progress. She put one foot in front of the other yet forever moved back instead of forward. 

The voice in her head continued to chide her. Philippa was right; what she was doing with Yennefer wasn't healthy. Triss could recognise her mental state had devolved since this began. She thought she had been improving. She had found a reason to stop, felt like she was succeeding, finally exercising self-control. She had even made progress with Philippa. While she hadn't received a yes it wasn't a no. A promise of possibility hung on the horizon, and perhaps an avenue existed to meet her needs. A more controlled pathway, which came with greater certainty, would not cause her to spiral deeper.

Tonight had shattered that dream. As Triss looked over at Yennefer, she wanted to grasp her tighter, hold on forever, plunge headfirst into the abyss just so long as she was there beside her. A crushing weight bore down on her chest, as her earlier thought returned. She knew Yennefer. When she woke, she would be furious at herself for allowing this to happen. It seemed cruel that Triss be given a taste when she knew it would be torn away as soon as the cloak of night faded. 

Triss was startled from her reflections as the sound of screams pierced the darkness. Yennefer did not stir. Triss extricated herself from the other woman's embrace, her movements gentle, she held her breath, afraid to disturb Yennefer's slumber. She threw on a robe and padded down the hall to investigate. It soon became apparent; the noise was coming from Rita's bedroom. 

By the time she arrived, the screams had reduced to whimpers, Rita sat on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. Philippa was already beside her. She turned her head in Triss's direction, and Triss squirmed, she still found it unnerving when she did that. An irrational part of her mind felt like Philippa was scrutinising her, seeing the night's previous activities written on her face. She shook herself as Geralt and Ciri arrived close behind her. Matching expressions of concern marked their features.

"Have any of you seen Yennefer?" Philippa directed the question at all of them, but Triss couldn't help but feel it was intended for her alone. Her stomach flipped. She shifted from foot to foot, crossing her arms and squeezing them across her chest as if they could serve as a shield, protect her from any suspicions directed her way. 

"Not recently." She averted her gaze, hoped Philippa couldn't hear the lie in her tone.

"If you do see her ensure she knows her presence will no longer be required here." Philippa's tone was icy. "And Geralt? Make yourself useful and clean up that mess." She gestured in the direction of the table. Triss's attention fell upon the mess to which Philippa referred. Broken glass, wine, some kind of soup, was that vomit? Triss wrinkled her nose. "The rest of you, out. Rita needs space." 

Triss turned to leave, but Philippa's voice halted her in her tracks.

"It's strange..." It was said with an eerie calm. Triss's pulse spiked as the promise of disaster hung thick in the air, suffocating her. "Despite Yennefer's absence, I can smell her perfume." Triss whipped her head around and noted, with a sinking sensation, Philippa was still facing her. 

"Um... she was staying here... perhaps she spilt some?" She felt like cold fingers were gripping her, dragging her towards her doom. Choppy waters churned in her belly, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop them shaking.

"Perhaps..." Triss studied Philippa's face searching for any indication of what she might be thinking. Her efforts were in vain. Her heart thumped so hard in her chest she worried Philippa might hear it. It was now pounding in her skull. She felt dizzy. She scurried out of the room before her mouth had a chance to betray her further, say anything truly damning. She feared she had already given too much away. The trip back to her room felt too long. She glanced over her shoulder, almost expected to see Philippa appear behind her, ready to catch her in her lie.

Upon reaching her room, she crawled back into bed. Let the warmth of the blankets engulf her, clung to Yennefer. She searched for an escape from the anxieties which plagued her mind. She was paranoid; she told herself. Philippa had no reason to suspect, but her thoughts would not be silenced. If she did suspect she wouldn't let it go, she would find out, and the ensuing fight would not escape anyone's notice. It would hurt Geralt. It would hurt Ciri. 

She shouldn't have allowed this, should have put a stop to it before it began, but now she'd had a taste she didn't want to let go. Despite the reasons not to all she wanted was to lose herself in Yennefer, allow this to consume her. She didn't care if it made her spiral further if, in the end, her life blew up in her face. That line of thought gave rise to new worries. Why didn't she care? She should care! When had she become this selfish? Perhaps she had always been this way, had simply become so lost in the lie she projected to the world she had begun to believe it herself. 

Sleep was elusive, and Triss expected she would lie awake all night. She must, however, have drifted off as she awoke with a start. Soft rays of morning light filtered through the window, but Triss did not get an opportunity to enjoy the moment. 

"Fuck! Rita!" Triss wasn't sure if it was Yennefer's shouting or the abruptness with which she shot up into a sitting position which disturbed her rest. She looked up at her, eyes bleary from sleep. Placed a hand on her arm, hoping the gesture would be reassuring.

"Rita's fine, Philippa is with her. She said..."

"What Philippa has to say is of little concern to me." Yennefer snatched her arm away from Triss's touch as if it burned her. "I hope you weren't witless enough to tell her where I was."

"Of course not!" Triss tried to contain the hurt in her voice. She hated that Yennefer could think such a thing. "I'm not stupid, Yenna!"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use me in a misguided attempt to make your other lover jealous. You do so love attention." Yennefer's tone was biting.

"Yenna, I would never." Triss's chest constricted, and she tried to fight the tears. She didn't want to cry in front of Yennefer, not again.

"When did you even find the time to see Philippa last night? Are you so desperate you would sneak off to join her in bed the moment I fell asleep?" 

"You're being cruel because you regret this, but you came to me!" Triss swiped at the tears which now slid down her cheeks. "If you think you can hurt me enough to make me walk away, you're wrong. I tried, I wanted to stop this, but I can't, and judging by last night neither can you. What's the point in lying to ourselves, Yenna?"

"Do not presume to tell me what I'm capable of, unlike you, I have self-respect. This will never happen again!" Yennefer was across the room in seconds, slammed the door behind her as she left.

In moments, Triss could hear shouting from the other end of the corridor. Yennefer had returned to Rita, she surmised, and Philippa was not pleased to see her. She sat on the edge of her bed, tried to tune out their quarrel. She couldn't make out words. Her fears returned, and her heart rate spiked. She prayed they were arguing about Yennefer's choice to leave Rita alone, that no other events from last night were featuring in the discussion. Triss dressed and made her way downstairs. 

She only managed a few bites of bread for breakfast. With each attempt her stomach turned, objecting to the intrusion. By the time she gave up, pushed her plate to the side, the commotion had faded. From the brief words she heard Yennefer exchange with Geralt, after she came downstairs, it seemed she would be sharing Rita duties with Philippa now. Triss did not anticipate that going well, but she kept her opinion to herself. 

Philippa and Geralt left shortly after. Today was the day they would go after Radovid. Unease hounded her, never more than a few steps behind. Triss couldn't help but think about what happened the last time Philippa encountered Radovid. If they failed two people she cared for would face harm. She felt useless, wished she could be helping, or at least had a task with which to distract herself. Yennefer had, again, retreated to Rita's room. Refused to look at Triss as she collected breakfast for herself and the other woman. Ciri was nowhere to be seen. Triss glanced at Zoltan and Dandelion, who stood by the bar, laughing. She lacked the energy to join them.

Triss tried to expel all thoughts of Radovid. The action made space for another type of rumination. Memories of her latest fight with Yennefer slunk into her mind. She had felt certain when she accused Yennefer of being just as far gone as herself. Now doubt crept up on her. Yennefer had only initiated once. While she might have wanted it the other times, she only gave in because Triss pushed. Once was not enough to establish a pattern. 

Yennefer seemed distressed last night. Perhaps she simply didn't want to worry Geralt when he already had so much on his mind. Maybe she had come to Triss specifically because she didn't care, stayed because her desire for comfort outweighed her dissatisfaction with the source. Another thought occurred to her. That might be preferable when compared with the alternative. The Yennefer she had known before the start of this was stronger than her. If Yennefer was starting to loose control the same way she was? Perhaps what Triss had done to her was even worse than what she did to Geralt. What did it say about her that she hoped her first conclusion was correct regardless. She needed to stop this!

The hour was late when Philippa returned, but Triss was still sitting downstairs, watching the people around her engage in revelry, wondering if she would ever again feel as carefree as they seemed. At the sight of the other woman, she exhaled a sigh of relief. If she was back, the plot must have been a success. Triss crossed the room to greet her. 

"How did it go?"

"Radovid won't be a problem for us any longer." Philippa looked invigorated. "Come, we should talk." Triss felt an ember of hope spark within her as she followed her up the stairs.

When they reached her bedroom, Philippa pushed the door open and gestured for Triss to enter. Triss complied. She could hear Philippa's movement behind her, the soft click as the door closed. Philippa moved around to stand in front of her. She looked imposing, and Triss waited, motionless, inhaled the scent of cinnamon and muskroot, drank in the sight of her. They remained like that for a moment, silent. Yet again Triss felt like Philippa was scrutinising her. 

"You seemed rather flustered last night." Philippa's voice penetrated the quiet. "You did it again, didn't you?"

"No, I..." Triss searched her mind for an adequate response, but none was forthcoming. Her voice trailed off.

"I would not advise lying to me, Triss." The firmness in Philippa's tone made her stomach lurch.

"It's not like you think, last night was different, she didn't..." Triss stopped mind sentence, shook her head; she was saying too much. 

"Oh, what didn't she do?" Triss squirmed, seeing the contemplative look on Philippa face she wanted to dash out of the room. 

"Nothing, you're right, yes, I did it again." Triss remained where she was. She didn't wish to waste what might be her only chance.

"You're not going to stop by yourself, are you?" Triss could almost detect a sigh in Philippa's voice.

"I don't know..." She hoped the answer was acceptable. It was the most honest one she had.

"If we do this it will be on my terms." Philippa paused, and Triss nodded her agreement. "I expect obedience. You will do what I say when I say it, both here and when I need your assistance with lodge related matters. If I deem your behaviour detrimental to the lodge, I will not hesitate to end the arrangement." Triss felt her spirits rise. It sounded very much like she was about to get what she wanted. "If you agree to my terms strip and kneel in the corner." Philippa gestured to a corner at the far side of the room.

Triss hesitated, a part of her mind screamed at her, that it would be unwise to agree to this. Who knows what Philippa's plans for the lodge were. However, this is what she had wanted. Would be the perfect distraction to help her stick to her commitment to stay away from Yennefer. She needed this but was it worth it?

"Don't waste my time, Triss." Philippa's tone was sharp. Triss exhaled and began to remove her clothes, folded each item and placed them, one by one, at the end of the bed. She crossed the room and sank to her knees in the designated corner. 

"Hands on your head." Triss complied, waited. The floor was cold, hard. She studied the wall, tried to spot patterns in the grain of the wood. She willed herself not to give in to her desire to shift her position, relieve some of the pressure from her knees. She was unsure how long she knelt there. Time dragged, stretched into an eternity, her arms began to ache. She wished desperately to lower them, but she wanted to please Philippa, so she kept them in place. A fire simmered in her belly, and she could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs. Finally, Philippa's voice broke the silence.

"Come here."

Triss rose and moved to stand before her. Philippa reached for her, pulled her closer, claimed her lips. Nails raked down her arms, and Triss closed her eyes, leaned into her. Philippa's tongue probed her mouth, and she granted access. Allowed the other woman to claim her. When Philippa broke the kiss, she whimpered at the loss, opened her eyes and looked up with a questioning gaze.

"Lie down on the bed, pet." Triss obeyed, kept her eyes trained on the other woman as she retrieved a length of rope. "Spread your legs further." Philippa instructed as she joined her on the bed. 

Philippa moved to kneel between her thighs, and Triss looked up at her. Even with the blindfold, she was as beautiful as ever. The end of the rope the brushed against her nipple, so gently it almost tickled. It trailed down her body at a maddeningly slow pace, stopped. A line of fire ignited across her thigh as Philippa whipped the rope against her flesh, and Triss gasped. Fingers traced the mark before Philippa repeated the action on the other side. Heat pooled in her belly. The rope found its way between her thighs, brushed against her folds in a teasing caress which offered no relief.

Philippa leaned forward. Triss felt the other woman's weight press against her, holding her against the mattress. Teeth sank into her neck. She found her wrists pressed together as a hand trapped them above her head. Philippa's tongue lapped against her neck, soothing the sting of the bite. She drew back. Rope snaked around her wrists, worked its way downwards. It was rough against her flesh; she could feel the dampness of her own fluids which coated it. Philippa pulled it tight, weaved it around her, binding her arms together with an intricate design until they felt adhered to each other, until she couldn't move them even if she desired it. Philippa fastened the end of the rope to the bedhead. 

She reached for a riding crop. The leather stroked her skin, trailed across her chest. Triss watched in anticipation as the crop rose and then descended upon her right breast, igniting a patch of fire as it kissed her flesh. The fingers of Philippa's spare hand caressed the heat it left behind. Then she lashed the crop down on the other side, harder. This time Philippa used her tongue to soothe the burn. 

Triss tried to get lost in the experience. Each strike of the crop focused her awareness more firmly on her body. It drew her into the moment, made her discontent retreat further to the back of her mind. However, it didn't eliminate it, not how it used to. This wasn't all-consuming the way it was with Yennefer. The way Philippa hurt her was controlled, felt like each action had been planned ahead of time. It the past she had liked that, but Yennefer had given her a taste for passion, spontaneity. The crop continued to fall at a leisurely pace across her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Philippa continued to soothe the pain with the brush of her fingers, the heat of her mouth. Triss felt her abdomen tighten and more fluid leak down her thighs, but it wasn't quite enough. 

Thoughts still managed to slink into her mind, taking up space where they were not welcome. A part of her liked how easily she could get under Yennefer's skin, cause her to do things she later regretted. A loss of control required emotional investment. It felt like evidence that somewhere deep down, Yennefer cared, made her feel valued in precisely the manner she believed she deserved. 

In the past, when she did this with Philippa, it was easier to keep the thoughts at bay, but now she couldn't push her suspicions out of her mind. Triss had told herself Philippa's intentions didn't matter to her, but she was coming to realise she had lied to herself. Her soul ached with how much she cared, how much she longed to be desired for who she was not what she could offer. Thoughts overwhelmed her like a tsunami, flooding her mind, robbing her of the pleasure she was enjoying just moments before. Did Philippa even want her here? Was this a chore she took on for the promise of a political prize? Triss squeezed her eyes closed tightly as a few tears slipped down her cheeks. She willed herself to be stronger than this. 

"Triss, what's wrong?" Philippa's voice was soft, but Triss could have sworn she heard a hint of irritation in her tone.

"Do you want me here?" The question slipped out before Triss could stop herself. She cursed under her breath, imagining how pathetic she must sound.

"I wouldn't have allowed your presence here if I didn't." Philippa's impatience was overt now.

"I mean, do you enjoy having me here or do you want me solely for what I can provide you politically?" Now Triss had started this line of questioning she might as well see it through. Seek the answer she desired.

"You look beautiful tied to my bed." That sounded like evasion to Triss, it didn't answer her question. Her first response was frustration, but then the content of Philippa's words hit her. She felt her stomach sink, prayed Philippa had made the statement out of habit, an attempt to placate her, that it didn't mean what she thought it did.

"Can... can you..." Triss struggled to voice the question, feared the calamity the answer might bring.

"Can I see you? Yes." Philippa stared at her for a long moment. "Didn't I tell you? My experiments were a success." She certainly had not, and Triss suspected Philippa was well aware of the fact. This was another game to her. "I can't see quite as well as I could before, but my eyes are growing back. I'm keeping the blindfold for the moment as the process is not yet complete, and they are rather horrific to look at."

Triss wished she could sink further into the mattress, let it swallow her, escape Philippa's gaze. Every time it had felt like Philippa was staring at her replayed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat as her fears were confirmed. Philippa must know. Her stomach churned, and she felt her body begin to shake. Her head felt fuzzy as her world collapsed around her. She felt the rope around her wrists loosen.

"This was a bad idea." Philippa's words sounded far away as they penetrated through the storm, which engulfed her. Triss nodded, unable to speak. 

Once her wrists were free, she scrambled off the bed, refused to look at Philippa as she put her clothes back on. She rushed out of the room. Philippa called after her, but she didn't look back. She remained focused on one goal, her need to return to the safety of her room.

When finally inside, she slammed the door shut, locked it behind her. She collapsed against it, let the wood at her back support her. She knew Philippa well enough to be reasonably confident she would not follow, but she didn't wish to take the risk. 

She crumpled to the floor, drew her knees to her chest, squeezed them tight against her, an attempt to make herself smaller. It had been inevitable that her string of poor decisions would eventually lead her here, yet it still felt surreal. She knew from the start her action would eventually harm people, it was only a matter of time, but it had felt distant. Now it seemed far less abstract. It was no longer a far off possibility, separated from her by the shield of time. It was about to happen. Now. She hated herself for allowing it to reach this point. Her self-loathing deepened as a realisation dawned upon her. Despite everything, if Yennefer were to knock on her door right now, tell her she desired her, she would fall right back into the same behaviour without hesitation.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwanted images invaded her mind, memories of the night she wished to forget. They were accompanied by a series of questions, questions which had plagued her since she left Triss's room. Why Triss? Why not Geralt? Geralt would have been the obvious option, the person to whom she should wish to turn for comfort. Why had she walked straight past his room, taken solace in the one person she knew would add only more turmoil to the chaos her life had now become? She and Geralt had both been preoccupied of late, she felt like they were drifting apart. Perhaps that was the problem. In the past, they could remain separated for years, then fall back into each other like no time had passed at all. However, they were still under the influence of the genie's wish back then. Maybe, now they no longer had magic binding them together, they needed to try harder. She should find him, attempt to reconnect. She seized her new purpose with both hands, allowed it to direct her as she rose from her bed

Yennefer awoke, it wasn't the first time since she had gone to bed the previous evening. The fog of fatigue, which was becoming her natural dwelling place, remained firmly wrapped around her. Golden mid-morning light now trickled in through her window. She resigned herself to the fact further rest would not be forthcoming. Her body ached as she untangled herself from the sheets. Against her will, her mind began to busy itself. She was ambivalent about the new arrangement pertaining to Rita's care. As much as she loathed to admit it, it had its benefits. Cloistering herself away with Rita had done nothing to assist with the other woman's recovery. All Yennefer had achieved was the worsening of her own mental state. Unfortunately, her newfound respite created more space in her mind for her worries to invade. At least she was sleeping more than she had been. She didn't feel rested upon waking, but she felt more human than she had before. It was a small mercy.

She ran her fingers through her tousled locks as she sat on the edge of the bed. Rita was showing improvement. While far from her old self, she was eating again, venturing out of her bedroom. Yennefer should be relieved, and, at least in part, she was. The heaviness which had weighed her down as she watched Rita's breakdown was lightening. There was a glimmer of hope that the old Rita might not be completely lost to her. Her heart ached upon seeing her friend a shell of the woman she used to be. Each time Rita flinched, every time Yennefer saw fear flash through her eyes, she pictured the horrors she must have faced in Deireadh. It made her long to go back there, exact vengeance again, be more ruthless this time. Continue her rampage until she had purged the images from her mind, and nothing remained of that prison but ash. Her previous efforts had not been enough to take back what that place, this city, had stolen from their kind. Some days she wished to burn the whole of Novigrad to the ground. Underneath her rage lingered sorrow. She missed Rita, the old Rita. Yearned for the return of the way their friendship used to be. Resentment festered within her, dampening the comfort Rita's improvement should provide. 

She should get up, dress, but her body felt heavy, and she was not yet ready to force herself through the motions. Yennefer didn't trust Philippa's intentions, doubted the authenticity of the other woman's concern. She couldn't believe Philippa would trouble herself with Rita's wellbeing out of the goodness of her heart. It grated on her that somehow a person like Philippa could provide emotional support more effectively than herself. Philippa had two priorities in life, herself and her political ideals. She felt no concern for the people around her, of that Yennefer was certain. They were all pawns to her, nothing more than tools she could use to advance her latest agenda, increase her power. Yet when it suited her, Philippa's faux concern was far more convincing than any attempt Yennefer made to express genuine sentiment. 

The people Yennefer valued might be few, but when it came to those she chose to love, she loved fiercely, with a strength which penetrated her soul. So why did she consistently fail to express it, fuck it up so badly she harmed those she wished to protect? The burden of her failure was crushing as it closed in around her. Self-loathing seeped into her, stifling all sense of joy as it filled her, served as fodder to further inflame the coals which had made themselves at home within the depths of her being. 

Yennefer dug her nails into the mattress. She tried to suppress the voice inside her head which screamed at her, again and again, _you are useless_. She had failed Rita, left her in a vulnerable state, with someone who planned to use her. Yet, Rita was better off than she had been in Yennefer's care. She reached into the intertwined mess of emotions which were growing roots within her and gripped onto her rage. Threw fuel upon the blaze until it consumed all else, made the chiding voice retreat to silence. Fuck Philippa and her manipulations! Fuck Triss for worming her way into her mind, disrupting her life so thoroughly.

Perhaps, had she not been so preoccupied with Triss, she might have managed better with Rita. A thought slipped into her mind, might Philippa have a role in her current mental breakdown? There was a time when Triss used to follow the woman around like a lovesick puppy. Could Philippa have put her up to her misguided seduction attempt? She dismissed the idea. Triss lacked the emotional control to pull it off. She wouldn't indulge this kind of paranoia, she needed to keep a grip on her unravelling sense of control. Her current line of thought ran contrary to that goal.

She rubbed the side of her neck. Tried to relieve the ache that had built there as she tossed throughout the night. She wished Philippa had failed just as badly as she had. The moment she acknowledged the thought her guilt crept up behind her, clutched at her once more. Yennefer still wanted to push back against the arrangement, tell Philippa to fuck off, but she wouldn't. That would only compound upon her preexisting failures. Rita's wellbeing needed to take priority over her feelings. She took a new approach. _Balance and control_ , she repeated the phrase in her mind, clung her former mentor's words, allowed them to become her lifeline as she talked herself down. The current arrangement was for the best. It was her attempt to care for Rita alone, which lead to her mistake with Triss. She couldn't allow that to happen again. 

Unwanted images invaded her mind, memories of the night she wished to forget. They were accompanied by a series of questions, questions which had plagued her since she left Triss's room. Why Triss? Why not Geralt? Geralt would have been the obvious option, the person to whom she should wish to turn for comfort. Why had she walked straight past his room, taken solace in the one person she knew would add only more turmoil to the chaos her life had now become? She and Geralt had both been preoccupied of late, she felt like they were drifting apart. Perhaps that was the problem. In the past, they could remain separated for years, then fall back into each other like no time had passed at all. However, they were still under the influence of the genie's wish back then. Maybe, now they no longer had magic binding them together, they needed to try harder. She should find him, attempt to reconnect. She seized her new purpose with both hands, allowed it to direct her as she rose from her bed.

Yennefer dressed and headed into the corridor. She had expected her search for Geralt would take much of the morning. She had overslept, and he would likely be occupied with some task or another by now. To her surprise, she spotted him almost immediately. He was pacing in the hallway, just above the landing. He appeared lost in thought, didn't notice her approach, as she made her way to his side. She placed a hand on his arm. He glanced up, answered the question on the tip of her tongue before she had a chance to voice it.

"Philippa and Rita are speaking with Ciri." Her stomach began to churn. She had forgotten that was planned for this morning. 

"I'm aware." Her voice came out sharper than she intended. How could she forget that? Every time she believed she had reached the depths of her Triss related spiral, it caused yet another problem in her life. Her ability to make responsible decisions had slipped from her grasp, her scrambling insufficient to keep it from shattering as it hit the ground. She was failing everyone in her life who mattered.

"And you didn't go with her?" Yennefer snapped. She needed somewhere to channel the self-directed anger, which was now reaching boiling point inside her. Geralt was there. She felt a twinge of guilt, her plan had been to close the distance between them, yet now she pushed him further away. However, as the knowledge sank in, Ciri was now within Philippa's grasp, her other thoughts fled her mind. Philippa was a different kind of danger to the others which hounded her daughter, but she was a danger nonetheless. She wanted to burst into the room, serve as a shield between Ciri and the other woman's undoubtedly dubious intentions.

"Ciri is an adult she can handle herself. They're not going to respect her if we hold her hand." Geralt's voice remained calm, but Yennefer could see a reflection her own anxieties ghost across his face.

"True..." Geralt had a point, but it did little to ease her worry. It was not only Philippa's political intentions which concerned her. Ciri had grown into a beautiful young woman, and Philippa was, well, Philippa. She did not want her daughter hurt should Philippa chose to employ her signature brand of persuasion.

Geralt leaned back against the bannister, in what appeared to Yennefer, a deliberate attempt to look calmer than he was. As if of their own accord, Yennefer's feet began to retrace the steps Geralt had taken moments before. There was only so much Philippa could do with Rita in the room. That reassurance chased away the most unwelcome of the images which swirled in her mind, but it did not calm her. She continued to wear a path into the floor. Back and forward, back and forward.

"She'll be fine, Yen." Geralt placed a hand on her shoulder, tried to still her agitated movements. She shook off his touch and spun to face him. 

"Philippa can be ruthless!"

"Ciri's been in worse situations, came out the other side just fine." The word fine was debatable. She could still recall how her heart stopped the first time she saw that scar. She held her tongue, now was not the time to dwell on that memory. Ciri was an adult. She needed to remember that.

"True, we have taught her well." The statement was less an expression of agreement than an attempt to convince herself.

"Exactly, she'll do great. There's nothing to fear." Yennefer wished that were true.

"Of course..." Yennefer's eyes fell on the door, she felt drawn to it. She shouldn't, but her feet were already carrying her in that direction. "I might just have a peak." She knelt down, brought her eye to the keyhole. 

Her heart beat faster as she took in the scene before her. Ciri looked uneasy, shifted slightly from foot to foot where she stood, a few feet from the door. Philippa crossed the room with a determined stride until she was much closer than Yennefer would have liked. It took all her willpower to resist the call to burst into the room. It echoed in her mind, growing ever stronger as it beckoned to her.

"Don't spy, Yen. Do you really trust her so little?" Geralt's reproachful tone penetrated her thoughts, her irritation a brief distraction from her internal struggle.

"Shh" Yennefer hushed him as she pressed her ear closer to the wood, strained to hear the conversation taking place. She couldn't make out words. "I trust Ciri. I do not trust Philippa." She focused on Philippa's lips, tried to read her words. _The lodge once had great plans for you_. The anger which already simmered within her combusted, filling her with a fervid heat. Not this again. Ciri shifted positions, blocking her view of Philippa's face. She cursed under her breath. She had her hand on the door handle when Geralt spoke again.

"Then why did you even allow it?" The flames danced in her chest, threatening to leap up her throat. She shoved them back down, bit back a scathing retort. This situation was hard for him too. He didn't deserve her ire.

"For the same reason as you." Her tone was curt, but the words were politer than they could have been. She silently praised herself for the small achievement. "They need to respect her." In that Geralt was right, she conceded, although a part of her begrudged him for it. _Balance and control_ , she told herself again. She needed to stay out of it, allow her daughter to do this. If Ciri couldn't handle the likes of Philippa, how could they expect her to prevail over the Wild Hunt. They couldn't coddle her.

"Let me have a look." She heard footsteps as Geralt drew closer.

"In your dreams." Yennefer remained where she was. While she planned to allow Ciri her independence, she would not miss a second. If her daughter needed her, she would there, ready for action. 

"What do you see?" Geralt stood right behind her now. So close, she could hear his breath.

Yennefer pushed down her annoyance. She reminded herself again, it wasn't fair to Geralt, he was just as worried about Ciri as she was. Besides, it wouldn't do to start an argument where it might be overheard. It could get back to Ciri. Their daughter needed to believe they had faith in her. She sighed and began to share the basics as she watched. 

Philippa appeared to be monologing. Some form of lodge recruitment spiel Yennefer assumed. Rita remained seated at a desk on the other side of the room. Philippa reached out, touched Ciri's arm, a gesture which made Yennefer long to remove the offending hand from the other woman's body. Ciri began to pace. Yennefer could see Philippa's face again. Made out a few more words. _Join us_. 

Philippa stalked after Ciri, attempted to place a hand on her arm once more. Ciri halted, spun around to face her, catching her wrist before her hand made contact. They stood, staring at each other for a long moment. As the seconds stretched out, discomfort slithered up Yennefer's skin. Perhaps she was reading too far into it, but it felt intimate. She felt dirty, just watching it. As her temptation to interfere reached its tipping point, Philippa snatched her wrist out of Ciri's grasp. Ciri began to speak now. Yennefer could not make out words, but she noticed the colour drain from Philippa's face. Pride swelled within her. 

"That's my Ciri!" A grin broke across Geralt's face as she finished recounting a slightly edited version of events. As she gazed at Geralt, enjoyed the mirror of her own joy at their daughter's success, Yennefer stopped spying for a moment. When she glanced through the keyhole again, Ciri was almost at the door. 

"Quiet, she's coming." Yennefer hissed as she stood. She stepped away from the door, attempted to look calm and dignified just as it flew open. Geralt was less graceful, as he stumbled backwards a few steps to make room.

"How did it go?" Yennefer asked. Ciri paused in the doorway, glanced back and forth between them.

"You were eavesdropping!" She accused.

"Of course not." Yennefer tried to sound indignant. Her attempt at deception was thwarted by Geralt who spoke at the same time.

"Yes."

"I see the two of you haven't changed one bit." Ciri shook her head and chuckled.

"What did you talk about?" Geralt asked.

"I'd rather not speak about it. At least not yet."

"Of course, whenever you're ready." Yennefer reached for Ciri's hand, gave it a light squeeze. "You did well. I'm proud of you."

"If you need some time process, take a walk or something." Geralt interjected "But do it now. We need to sail for Skellige soon. Avallac'h is waiting for us at the port."

"I'll meet you at the port soon." Ciri nodded. Once Ciri was gone Geralt turned to Yennefer.

"Yen, I wanted to..." This was the moment. Perhaps, her best chance to have the conversation she wanted to have, to reconnect, before they were thrust into a battle they might not survive. She opened her mouth, but the words she needed escaped her.

"Go meet Avallac'h." Yennefer interrupted whatever he was about to say. "We'll talk later." Geralt nodded. She leaned against the bannister as she watched him descend the stairs, a part of her wanted to go after him, but she still didn't know what to say, didn't want him to suspect something was wrong. Short of telling him the truth, she wouldn't know how to respond to the line of questioning which might follow. So, she remained where she was until he was gone. Where she turned, she was greeted with an unwelcome surprise. 

"Enjoy the show?" Philippa stood a few feet away, leaning against the door frame. 

"I certainly did." Yennefer flashed her a false smile. "I'm sure you must be terribly disappointed, but you should have known Ciri would never succumb to your manipulations. She is my daughter, after all." 

"What makes you so sure that meeting didn't end exactly how I intended it to?" Philippa titled her head to the side slightly, smirked back at her. Yennefer's confidence faltered for a moment, she shook herself, this was just another mind game. 

"I doubt that." She wasn't in the mood to do this with Philippa right now. "Regardless, I had better not hear of you trying to lure Ciri into your bed."

"If I were you I would be far more concerned about what was happening in my own bed." Philippa took a step forward. 

"Excuse me?" Yennefer suspected the movement was intended to intimidate. She stood her ground, even as her heart began to pound harder in her chest. The words were unsettling. Did Philippa know what she had been doing with Triss? More importantly, how might she plan to use the information if she did? Sparks began to crackle in her belly, flaring outwards as they built into a blaze. If Triss had said something to Philippa, Yennefer would ensure she regretted it dearly. Perhaps, her suspicions about Philippa's meddling had not been so wrong after all. 

"Geralt, I mean." She felt like Philippa was studying her, and she did her best to school her expression into an impassive mask. "The two of you have seemed... distant of late. If you don't take proper care of your pet, you might lose him."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were in Skellige now. Triss's recollection of the journey was hazy. She stood on the deck of the ship gazing out across Kaer Trode Harbor. Sunlight reflected off the surface of the water in a shimmering dance. She inhaled the fresh sea air, wrinkled her nose at the hint of fish that wafted from the docks intermingling with the briny scent. Gulls circled overhead screeching as they surveyed the fishing boats in search of scraps. The sun warmed her skin, but inside she felt cold, hollow. The cloud of foreboding was beginning to recede. Yet it lingered on the horizon, waiting for the slightest breeze to push it back in her direction, close enough to consume her once more.

Following her flight from Philippa's room, the impending collapse of Triss's life had seemed a certainty. The threat of exposure hung over her, casting a shadow, swallowing all light which braved an attempt to chase it away. At first, she longed to remain barricaded behind her door forever. When she finally crept out, driven by the pangs of hunger, she had felt like a convicted criminal, marching towards her doom. Each time she passed another person in the hallway, her heart rate spiked and panic coursed through her veins. She would brace herself, waiting for the axe to fall. However, the days passed quietly. Philippa and Yennefer exchanged snide remarks when forced to share space, but the altercation she expected had not come. Their interactions were... surprisingly ordinary. When she spoke with Geralt and Ciri, they regarded her with a friendly warmth. She could detect no trace of judgement in their eyes. It felt surreal, almost like she had stepped into another plane of existence.

She kept her distance from Yennefer, feared if she were to detect even a whisper of desire in the other woman's words, her resolve would crumble. She wanted to stay away from Philippa too; however, their history together was well known. Being seen avoiding her would have raised questions Triss did not wish to answer. Even so, when she thought of conversing with her, Triss's stomached flipped, a sickening heat crawled across her skin, and her heart beat harder in her chest. She agonised over it, finally resolved to keep herself occupied, or at least feign an appearance of busyness, whenever in Philippa's presence. She limited their interactions to the exchange of pleasantries whenever possible. At times, Triss was sure she could feel Philippa eying her from across the room, but whatever was on her mind, she did not press the issue. 

Triss did her best to distract herself. She played cards with Zoltan and Dandelion, chatted with Rita on the occasions she ventured out of her room. Turmoil swirled within her, it's tendrils reaching out at the first hint of joy, grasping at the most simple of comforts, sucking the colour out of her life until only inky darkness remained. She clung to her facade, even as a jumble of emotions warred within her each vying for supremacy. Fear, guilt, loneliness, eventually, they fused together into an entity which thrived on misery. It thrashed within her, devouring more and more. She had never been the type to bottle up her feelings and doing so now took a toll. She felt like the very essence of her identity was being strangled, becoming smaller, but she had to push through it. There was too much at stake. _Did Yennefer feel like this all the time or did emotional suppression become easier with practice?_ Her heart ached. She cursed herself. What Yennefer felt was not her concern. She knew all too well where that spiral would lead. She needed to remain focused on managing the problems she had already created, could not afford to add to them. It was vital she gave nothing else away. So, Triss mustered her strength, held herself together, only broke down under the cloak of night, alone in her room. She awoke exhausted and retired to bed, exhausted. Each day felt endless, yet combined, they passed quickly. Too quickly, each blending into the next. Her panic began to fade, creating space for self-loathing to burrow deeper.

They were in Skellige now. Triss's recollection of the journey was hazy. She stood on the deck of the ship gazing out across Kaer Trode Harbor. Sunlight reflected off the surface of the water in a shimmering dance. She inhaled the fresh sea air, wrinkled her nose at the hint of fish that wafted from the docks intermingling with the briny scent. Gulls circled overhead screeching as they surveyed the fishing boats in search of scraps. The sun warmed her skin, but inside she felt cold, hollow. The cloud of foreboding was beginning to recede. Yet it lingered on the horizon, waiting for the slightest breeze to push it back in her direction, close enough to consume her once more.

Since their arrival, Geralt had been of a single mind. He wasted not a minute in his quest to prepare them to face the Wild Hunt. Today, he had left at dawn determined to retrieve the Sunstone, an elven artefact Avallac'h claimed could prevent Eriden from escaping once the battle began. Philippa had accompanied him. Triss inhaled deeply, clearing her mind, tried to find joy in the beauty which surrounded her. However, a sense of dread lurked behind her, a predator, and she, its prey. It waited for a crack in her defences, an opportunity to pounce.

As each day had passed with no word of her indiscretion, she had felt a measure of relief. It was becoming easier to reassure herself. _Perhaps she had been less obvious than she believed? Maybe Philippa didn't know?_ However, she wasn't so naive. In moments such as these, the fog of her own lies parted, revealing a clear view of the truth she wished to deny. Philippa was observant. There was little chance the situation with Yennefer had escaped her notice. Whether she had drawn the correct conclusion, remained to be seen, but Triss was sure she had an inkling of what was taking place. Two possible scenarios danced around her mind. Either Philippa suspected but did not wish to act without confirmation, or she knew, and it suited her current interests to hold her peace. 

It was the latter which concerned Triss the most. She couldn't help but worry Philippa had a plan, intended to use the information to her advantage. How it might benefit her, Triss could not fathom, and the uncertainty only made it worse. The knowledge Philippa was alone with Geralt gnawed at the back of her mind. The haphazard barricade she had erected around her sanity began to splinter, the cracks she could never quite fill grew larger. What if Philippa planned to use her knowledge to manipulate him in some way? Even if that wasn't her design, Triss wouldn't put it past her to drop hints solely for her own amusement. The contents of her belly grew heavier. Her pulse quickened, a swarm of wasps surged against the walls of her chest, fighting for escape. At least when they were nearby, she felt a semblance of control. Could tell herself there was a chance she or Yennefer might overhear the beginning such a conversation, have an opportunity to create a distraction or defend against the accusations as they were made. Right now, she felt powerless. She didn't notice Ciri's approach until the other woman was standing beside her.

"I hate this!" Ciri exhaled a frustrated sigh as she leaned back against the side of the ship. Triss counted to three in her mind. An attempt repel the unwanted thoughts, stave off her breakdown. She fervently prayed her expression gave nothing away.

"What's wrong?" She turned to study the younger woman. She noted a slight redness to Ciri's eyes. Beneath them, a greyish tone stood out in contrast against pale skin. A wave of concern washed over her, submerging her other worries. She was glad for the distraction, needed to escape from her own head.

"I want..." Ciri began, paused, shook her head. "No, I _need_ to be doing something! The Wild Hunt is coming after us because of me. All of you are here to protect _me_. Hell, Geralt is out there right now, putting himself in danger, for me. Yet, here I am, doing nothing. I should be taking more responsibility. I should be making myself useful!" 

"You've been training with Avallac'h, Ciri. That's far from doing nothing." Ciri looked like she wanted to protest, but Triss continued her tone firm. "You've been working just as hard to prepare for this battle as anyone else. More than some."

"It doesn't feel like enough." Ciri exhaled a heavy sigh. "What about now? I'm just standing here, this is..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned to gaze out across the water.

"It's okay to rest, Ciri. You need to be at your best when the Wild Hunt arrives, and you won't accomplish that by exhausting yourself."

"I just feel like I'm doing less than everyone else. I feel useless like all I do is create problems for someone else to solve." _Useless_ , the word penetrated Triss to her core. She searched her mind, tried to recall the last time she felt her existence benefited the world, it felt like a lifetime ago. However, their circumstances were hardly the same. Ciri had been thrust into a situation far beyond her control, had risen to the challenge. All of Triss's problems were of her own making, and she lacked the strength to rectify them. She deserved to feel this way, Ciri did not.

"Accepting help isn't weakness." Triss doubted the reassurance was welcome, she wouldn't believe such words were the situation reversed. However, as Ciri voiced her insecurities, the need to fix it gripped her. Guilt rose in her chest. She had made a mess of her life, allowed it to spiral until she lost control. Now, the impending collapse was out of her hands. She couldn't predict where it would fall or who might become pinned beneath the wreckage. As she listened to Ciri talk, she felt ill. Ciri had enough to deal with, yet as they spoke the culmination of Triss's poor choices grew restless in the distance. Waited, poised to strike, anxious to destroy yet another aspect of the girl's already shattered life.

_Was she only doing this to assuage her own guilt?_ No, she loved Ciri would support her regardless of the circumstances. Still, the thought slunk into her mind, accompanied by a bitter taste. If she could help Ciri get past this, do something to improve someone else's life for once, perhaps she would hate herself less, could believe she was something more than her failings. Anger flared inside her, she couldn't keep doing this. Self-severing thinking brought her to this place. She could recognise that so why couldn't she stop? Her rage twisted within her, searched for space, fought for control, but she already felt too much. The concoction of emotion which brewed within her reached for it, absorbed until it became indistinguishable from the sense of worthlessness which consumed her one piece at a time.

"I just... I don't think I can handle anyone else getting hurt because of me. What if I can't do this? What if everyone dies, and it's my fault?" Triss shook herself. Forced her attention back to the woman beside her. This wasn't about her. If she could do nothing else she needed, at least, to not make this about herself.

"Ciri, you are capable of so much more than you believe. Think of everything you went through after Thanedd. You were a child, you were alone, yet you came out the other side."

"I wasn't alone the whole time, and not everyone came out alive..." Regret flittered across Ciri's face.

"You're no longer a child, you're more experienced now, stronger. You have more support this time. I have every faith you can do this!" Ciri frowned, opened her mouth to say more.

"Wine?" Triss turned towards to voice to see Rita standing behind her, a bottle of wine in one hand and a goblet full to almost overflowing in the other. Triss shook her head, clouding her wits seemed like a bad idea.

"Sure, why not." Ciri reached for the bottle.

"Perhaps, I should have brought extra goblets."

"No need" Ciri took a swig from the bottle, Rita followed suit taking a sip of her own drink. They all remained silent for a moment. 

"Have you considered our offer, Ciri?" Rita finally broke the silence.

"I can't say it's one of my priorities at present." Ciri stiffened, fingers gripped the bottle tighter. This wasn't the time for such a conversation. Triss intended to tell Rita just that but curiosity got the better of her. 

"What offer?" She interjected.

"Philippa didn't tell you?" Rita eyed her quizically. 

"No." Triss cut her off, her tone curt. Rita looked like she had further questions, but she seemed to sense they were unwelcome. 

"Philippa intends to reform the lodge, and I stand with her. We believe Ciri should lead us." Unease crept across her skin. So, Philippa had held on to the plans she made for Ciri so many years ago. It wasn't surprising. The woman was persistent when she wished to be. 

"You don't believe Philippa truly intends to follow, Ciri?" Triss wrinkled her brow. Experience told her, whatever Philippa had chosen to share was a tiny fraction of her true intentions. The full extent of her plan lurked below murky waters, and it would be executed with no small amount of manipulation. Another wave of guilt crashed down on her as she recalled the agreement she had almost made. To do whatever was necessary to help Philippa attain her goals, in exchange for sex. Her failures as a friend were multi-layered.

"That was always her plan, was it not? To put Ciri on the throne." Rita shrugged and took another sip of her wine.

"Philippa wants a sorceress on the throne, power for all of us, but for herself most of all. She knows the people would never accept a queen who could not bear children, and that's the only reason she didn't put herself forward as a candidate."

"Triss is right." Ciri's tone was cold. "I was a child when she began to plan my future. Let's not pretend it wasn't her intention to manipulate me, groom me, eventually rule through me." 

"That may have been true then, but you're not a child now. Philippa knows if you agreed you would do so on your own terms. She respects that, respects you. " Rita seemed to believe the words, but Triss was sceptical. A quick glance in Ciri's direction confirmed her doubts were shared. "You are the rightful heir to the empire; someday you could unite the remaining kingdoms. We would defer to you. However, you have been away from the court for too long. Politics is Philippa's area of expertise. She could advise you, guide you. Together we could undo the damage Radovid has done. We could create a world where sorceresses are respected again."

" _Advise_ " Ciri scoffed, bringing the bottle to her lips again. "So, Philippa is aiming to elevate her position to advisor of the Empress. What is it you stand to gain Rita?"

"I just want what's best for our kind." Rita bristled at the implication of Ciri's words. "And I want my school back."

"I don't want to be an Empress!" Ciri began to pace. "I can't think about this! The Wild Hunt draws closer. Right now, all I want is for people to stop dying for me."

"This is bigger than you or me or what any one of us wants! People are going to continue to die regardless of what you do. Perhaps, if we worked together, we could save a few lives. Maybe those who have do die could do so with a little dignity!" Triss could hear a mix of indignation and desperation in Rita's voice. After a pause, she continued, her tone softer. "I need my girls to be safe. They shouldn't have to go through..." Her voice trailed off, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. Triss placed a hand on her arm. Rita jerked slightly, swiped away a few tears.

"I'm fine."

"I promise you, Rita. We are going to do everything in our power to make things better. Radovid is already dead. Philippa took care of that. Regardless of what Ciri chooses, we are going to rid the world of the witch hunters, but we need to deal with the Wild Hunt first. Ciri doesn't need more to worry about right now." Rita nodded, her posture rigid, she inhaled more wine.

"I'm sorry..." She continued to stare into the distance. "I just.. need to do something. I feel like I've lost my mind, lost myself. Staying focused on creating a better future is the only thing that makes me feel sane right now."

"Rita, I appreciate that you came here to help me. I appreciate everyone who volunteered to be part of this fight which should be mine alone, and I plan to repay the favour. I may not choose to be Empress, I may not choose to join the lodge, but if we get through this, you will have my support against the witch hunters."

"The things which happened in that prison... What they did to me was monstrous, but what they did to some of the others, what they did to Sheala. It was... nobody should ever..." 

"We will stop them, Rita. What I want, once all this is over, is to be a witcher. Witchers kill monsters." They remained silent for a moment. Rita drew closer to Ciri, wrapped her arms around her, spilling her wine in the process.

"Thank you" her voice was soft. They remained like that for a moment before Rita drew back. "Had things turned out the way they were supposed to, all those years ago, I would have been proud to have you as my student." Rita brought her goblet to her lips once more, frowned as she discovered it was empty. "A bit of advice, Philippa has a weakness for beautiful women. I have every faith you could match her should she try to play a game of manipulation with you." Ciri blushed, shifted from foot to foot, took another draft from the bottle, and passed it back to Rita.

"So, how are things going with you and Philippa?" Ciri turned her attention to Triss.

"They're not." Triss groaned inwardly, this was the last thing she wanted to talk about.

"Are you okay?" The way Ciri was scrutinising her made her stomach lurch.

"I..." A thought occurred to her. Ciri had expressed an interest in Philippa once. It probably made her a terrible person to even think it, but if Philippa had a new lover, perhaps it would distract her from any suspicions she had regarding Yennefer. She couldn't, it would be a terrible thing, to use a friend like that. _Would it really be using her?_ A small voice at the back of her head whispered. If Ciri wanted this, then it could benefit both of them. Ciri would have a way to unwind, a distraction from the coming fight. _No!_ She banished the thought. Ciri was emotionally vulnerable at the moment, and Philippa had plans involving her. She would be throwing her friend into the lion's den for personal gain. _Wouldn't it be insulting to Ciri to assume she couldn't handle herself?_ The voice wormed it's way back. Ciri had asked to be informed should she choose not to pursue a relationship with Philippa. She would only be honouring her request. It wasn't her place to deny Ciri's right to self-determination. Perhaps, Rita was right, and she could even gain the upper hand. After everything she had been through, she deserved a chance at happiness, even if it might be fleeting. The choice would be unwise, but after everything she had done, she would a hypocrite to condemn it. Surely it couldn't be wrong, supporting a friend to make their own choices. If Triss also benefited, that was just a bonus. "I'm fine. I just decided it wasn't something I wanted." Her mind screamed at her to stop, yet the words continued to come. "I don't know if you're still interested, but if you are, you have my blessing." 


End file.
